Spirit and Steel
by Shada The Cardie Dukal
Summary: 2359. A refugee camp on Bajor. Glinn Kottrag is in charge of this camp and he truly hates being stationed in this misbegotten, strange place. He shuns his responsibilities but soon his failures, dirty compromises and comfortable half-truths backfire on him… And he suddenly finds a very personal reason to do his job.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Spoilers: The chapters refer to events and settings in "Terok Nor: Day of the Vipers" by James Swallow and "Terok Nor: Night of the Wolves" by S. and Britta Dennison. The food, the flora, the fauna and the units of time and distance are consistent with the "Terok Nor" trilogy, "Deep Space Nine" episodes, Memory Alpha and Beta. The story describes events that take place during the Occupation. Reader discretion is advised. Chapters 2 and 3 contain a rape and a surgical treatment but nothing graphic or too descriptive. The rating is M just to be on the safe side.

Chapter 1

"After one look at this planet any visitor from outer space would say 'I want to see the manager.'" William S. Burroughs

2359, Bajor, refugee camp Agara

Glinn Kottrag passed through the checkpoint followed by three of his soldiers. He hated inspecting the camp – it was nerve-racking and depressing but sometimes he had to do it. The check point consisted of a wooden booth with two sentries circling the perimeter around the booth. It was ridiculous – the camp had no fences.

The infantry officer wondered why they had a checkpoint when the entire population of the camp roamed the near-by forest and the women brought water from a river that flowed 400 decas away. Still, everyone caught too far from the river and the forest needed a good explanation or a valid pass otherwise they were considered stragglers and thieves. The people from the camp rarely ventured that far – the camp provided them with some food and protection.

Most of them were ordinary people who had lost their farms and jobs because of rushed, ill-targeted reprisal acts. When a Resistance cell and their supporters among the locals bombed a Cardassian outpost, a settlement or a factory manned with non-forced workers, the local gul overreacted and ordered a punitive strike against the nearest population centers.

The survivors were dumped at camps like this one so he had to look after them until the authorities provided them with a new place to live and work. The Prefect himself was appalled by the vicious cycle creating both refugees and more Resistance and had issued an order that all reprisal acts had to be sanctioned by him but the province guls usually by-passed it by claiming it was a matter of emergency and they did not have time to wait for the order to go through the channels. Most of them truly hated the moratorium on reprisal acts and believed that it only served to embolden the Resistance.

Glinn Kottrag shook his head, musing over the big political issues would not change the fact that these creatures, though Bajorans, were here and he had to keep them alive and out of harm's way. Both things were a formidable task because when the Bajorans did not attack Cardassian settlements, they were extremely resourceful at fighting petty wars against each other.

The reasons were stupid and insignificant – a dirty look, a d'jarra issue, black market goods, a kid beating another kid, sheer envy for being less fortunate than someone else. People coming from one region kept to themselves and despised people from other regions. It was difficult to fathom how many reasons the Bajorans could come up with to hate each other and segregate each other. Everyone outside their family, clan, or d'jarra was an enemy.

The Cardassian officer had given up trying to negotiate and solve their quarrels and disputes because he had only 30 men who lived in a garrison next to the camp and only a force field isolated him and his soldiers from 500 Bajorans. He refused to put his people's lives at risk on account of the Bajoran never-ending vendettas and passionate stubbornness.

His only concern and ambition was to make sure that he and his soldiers would get home in one piece. He did not mind dying for the Union, sacrificing himself for making his children's lives safer and ensuring better future for his nation but being killed on this cold mud-hole of a planet by vindictive primitives who he had to feed and protect was not worth it.

Glinn Kottrag would not have bothered to enter the camp if not for the liaison officer who had inspected him two days earlier. The guy was part of the Terok Nor crew and was accountable to the Prefect himself. Glinn Hissar, this was his name, turned out to be quite reasonable and approachable unlike most officers in the Guard who snubbed the Militia. The man was not arrogant; he listened carefully to Kottrag's explanations, asked only relevant questions, and did not jump to conclusions.

He interviewed Bajorans from the camp at random, spoke to the soldiers, and questioned the collaborators who received the food supplies, cooked for the camp, and operated the food lines. There was not a medic so the paramedic of the garrison had to treat the Bajorans as well and Hissar had a word with him too.

After a two days' investigation he informed Glinn Kottrag that according to the camp documentation each adult Bajoran in the camp should be fed the equivalent of 2000 calories a day, children – 1500 calories respectively. This calorie intake could hardly make them fat but was enough for people who did not do any physical labor apart from daily chores. He checked the food that was given to the Bajorans and found out that it was a watery soup that contained no more than 700-800 calories per serving. He also ascertained that the bread was less than the prescribed amount.

Kottrag listened dutifully to the flying dude from Terok Nor and wondered whether he knew or cared that his own soldiers ate even worse food because they were used to replicated food and no one had ever taught them how to cook katterpod beans and kava root and how to make bread out of mapa flour. The collaborators were not allowed into the garrison so soldiers had to be assigned to KP duty every day and every day the food was horrible.

They had not seen a sonic shower since they had been transferred from the settlement in Jo'kala and stationed here in the wilderness. The water was delivered by means of primitive pumps from the river and was heated by dilithium boilers so they had running hot water at least. They did not drink it – it was for bathing and cleaning. The paramedic decontaminated several containers of water for drinking and food preparation.

Finally, the liaison officer told Kottrag that he suspected a major fraud scheme that involved the collaborators and the gang which the Militia officer used to run the camp for him. The collaborators sold the food to the gang and the gang provided food, medicines, household amenities, clothes and protection in exchange for jewelry, money or services and severe indebtedness. This thought had crossed Glinn Kottrag's mind but he had always considered it a purely Bajoran matter – as long as they did not kill each other openly, he did not give a shit how they screwed up each other.

Before leaving, the Terok Nor officer gave him a long list of recommendations and rated the camp efficiency as "passable" which was next to "unsatisfactory." He also advised the infantry glinn to do something about the gang and to keep the collaborators in check. Another suggestion specified gaining the trust and respect of the common camp residents who were neither gang members nor collaborators.

The inspecting officer was positive that the glinn should adopt a more decisive approach while maintaining the law and order in the camp. Still, he ended the briefing on the positive note and told him that he had faith in Kottrag's abilities and had not found evidence of embezzlements or cruelties involving Cardassians and he hoped that on his next visit he would see significant improvement and would be able to mark the camp as "satisfactory".

Glinn Hissar was well-intentioned and showed sympathy for his responsibilities, Kottrag appreciated that. He clearly gave him a chance to clear up his own house without outside administrative pressure. It was kind, but still Glinn Kottrag had no idea what to do.

His inquisitors at the secondary school used to joke that Kottrag was not dull – he simply thought slowly, it took him ages to make a decision. What they did not know was that once he decided what exactly he wanted to do, few people could stop him. That was why he had joined the Militia, someone else made the decisions and he simply did what they told him to do.

He let out a frustrated breath and strode on the muddy path leading to the center of a shantytown encompassing tents and makeshift huts put together from discarded debris. The Cardassian daintily avoided the puddles – it had rained recently and he really hated seeing mud and soil on his carefully polished boots. It was chilly according to the Cardassian standards, although the Bajorans considered it a normal warm day.

He could hardly wait to finish with the inspection and return to the familiar surroundings of the garrison. The glinn was wondering whether Garresh Varga, who served the KP duty today, would manage to create something edible – he claimed his mother was a great cook and it ran in the family. Last time when it was his turn, the result was so vile that everyone ate field rations.

His sullen gaze moved to a group of men sitting on crates and empty boxes, smoking hiuna leaves – terrible habit but they seemed to enjoy it. They never seemed to do anything but talking and gesticulating vividly. They could bring wood from the forest or water from the river, they could do something about their dirty, ignorant children who bickered in the mud like porwiggies, but they would not budge. There was so much to be done; they could dig trenches to make sure the next rain would not swamp their hovels.

The women did not expect anything from their men. They trudged in groups of two or three to the river, carrying bundles of dirty clothes and dishes and empty containers. They washed the clothes, rinsed the dishes and hung the wet clothes on nearby tree branches, rocks or ragged clotheslines. Finally, they filled the containers with water for drinking and cooking and dragged them back to the camp.

The bigger children and the teenagers formed gangs, roamed the camp and fought each other, trying to pinch something in the meanwhile. He wondered how come some families had food to cook while others relied entirely on the food lines. Still, Hissar was right – most of them looked too scrawny.

What depressed the glinn most was the lack of togetherness and mutual concern in the family. A Cardassian family wasn't that way. They would approach the problem united and would concentrate on their predicament and everyone would do their best. He could not imagine letting his wife drag these containers all by herself. He would hate himself, she would despise him and she would never forgive him. The children would stay at their mother's beck and call, ready to fetch things or do whatever she told them.

The glinn would do the same by the way. It was his wife who made the decisions at home and he had never seen any reason to oppose her judgment. She had a lot of common sense and knew how to run the house. All he had to do was to do his job and to provide the means. He never argued about cooking, shopping, renovations, household appliances – if she said something was necessary then it was.

Glinn Kottrag gathered himself – thinking of his family on Cardassia IV would do him no good. He was here on Bajor and had responsibilities. A commotion coming from the food line drew his attention. He saw the leader of the gang Limo Rattan sprinting after a girl who was hastily departing carrying a mess-tin with soup. She threw a glace over her shoulder, her eyes had the most striking electric blue and she barred her teeth like an angry hara-cat. She quickly slipped the bread into her bosom, put her hand in the mess-tin, raked out the vegetables floating in the soup, and stuffed them in her mouth.

It was so shamelessly revolting and absurd that the Cardassian could not tore his gaze from the scene. Most Bajorans looked bedraggled and rural but she struck him as almost feral. When Limo reached her, she spun around; her clotted black hair swished like a whirlpool and spilled the rest of the soup in his face. Limo shielded his eyes defensively, she slammed the metal tin into his nose and gave him a well aimed kick in the balls.

Then she picked up her tin and was about to dash away but one of Limo's henchmen popped up from behind and pushed her in the back. She fell but managed to re-group before hitting the ground, stretched one of her long legs and kicked him behind the knee so he lost balance and knelt. She quickly grabbed a handful of mud from a puddle, slapped it in his eyes, and knocked him down with a kick in the jaw.

Limo had regained his balance and was to jump on her again but Kottrag decided to interfere – there was so much spirit in her that he involuntarily took her side. The people at the food line threw glances but outwardly pretended that they did not notice anything – as long as Limo bullied someone else's wife or daughter, everything was fine.

Kottrag made two steps toward Limo and his soldiers deployed behind him watching the food line and Limo's men. "That's enough, Limo. What do you have with this woman?" the Cardassian demanded gruffly.

Limo blinked, a hint of irritation pervaded his rodent face, but he suppressed it, lowered his head, and answered with a phony demure, "She is the biggest trouble maker in the camp, Glinn Kottrag. I am just trying to maintain the law and order."

"You attacked her while she was walking away," the officer pointed out accusingly.

"She does not respect…my authority," the Bajoran answered meekly but a nasty glitter flashed in his eyes. Kottrag shifted his gaze to where the girl was but she was not there. He looked at his men ready to reprimand them if they had let her sneak away when he realized that the three of them were staring at something with a mixture of astonishment and repulsion.

She was squatting where Limo had fallen and was gathering pieces of vegetables from her soup that was soaking in the ground.

Kottrag addressed one of his soldiers, "Resh Ozrik, do you have a field ration on you?"

"Yes, Glinn, I do. Can I …?" he confirmed and glanced at the woman.

"Yes, throw it to her," Kottrag readily permitted. She looked even thinner than the other Bajoran women. Probably because she was quite lanky.

The resh threw the field ration to the woman, she grabbed it in the air and hid it into her bosom. She stood up and peered at the soldiers and Limo's men calmly and calculatingly.

Glinn Kottrag assumed his most grim expression and warned Limo, "If I ever see you doing something like this again, you won't have any authority to worry about. Mark my words." He turned to the girl and snarled, "Off you go, you cocky wench!" and she vacated the place in a flash.

The Cardassian officer shook his head, disgusted and amused at the same time, and continued his inspection. Limo kept his head down while the glinn and the reshes passed by but he did not feel threatened or frightened at all. He knew he was indispensible; who would run the camp, who would provide the glinn and some of the soldiers with women, who would sell the Caries jewelry that the Bajorans had bartered for food and medicines.

This was nothing but a cheap show for the masses – the glinn restoring the order, investigating and negotiating an act of violence. He would not enter the camp within a month's time and soon he would feel lonely and homesick and would order a woman.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just … come out the other side. Or you don't." Stephen King, "The Stand"

Tamil Chitta saw the first attacker too late. She had drowsed and he had managed to creep close to her. She had perched herself on a thick branch of a nyatree leaning against the trunk and planned to kick anyone who would climb after her.

She barely managed to think, she had not had a proper sleep for more than a week, only dozing and on her guard, never relaxing. The worst thing was that she had not eaten almost anything since the field ration that the Cardie threw to her. The hunger and the sleep deprivation were telling on her reactions and assessment, she felt dizzy and could not concentrate quickly enough.

They had counted on that – with each passing day her strength dwindled and they tightened the loop around her. She jumped from the branch, hoping that her pursuer would lose too much time while climbing down the tree. The moment her feet touched the ground, two other men from Limo's gang came at her and pinned her to the ground with their knees. That was it, she could do nothing.

Chitta looked up and saw Limo approaching with the rest of his thugs, seven altogether. "We got her," one of the men informed Limo excitedly. He was a robust Ke'lora boy named Svan and he jerked her head watching her Te'nari earring, "I have always wanted to do it with one of those haughty bitches from the upper d'jarras. Rubbing shoulders with the aristocracy so to say…"

Limo nodded generously, "Yes, Svan, you will but I am first."

He gestured to the men who were holding her and they pulled her up to her knees. He drew closer to her and slapped her on the face using the back of his hand, "You bitch, this camp is mine, everyone does what I say," he hissed at her. After that he addressed his men, "Our glinn requires a woman tonight so we will sell him this wild cat. In the meantime we will tame her and make her worthy of a glinn."

On saying that he grabbed Chitta by the hair and dragged her to a near bush, pushed her down and straddled himself over her. She saw him unbuckle his belt and realized what was coming but outside the bush there were six more so the odds were against her. The woman forced herself to remain calm and switched off any emotion, concentrating on the forthcoming sensation, thinking of ways to screen it off. She had never done it so she really did not know what to expect. She felt him inside, she registered his movements but that was all, she did not feel any pain.

Chitta was wondering whether there was something wrong with her – a rape was supposed to be something but as it was, she did not feel anything but blurred vexation. She did not know that her brain had managed to switch off the sensation coming from her pelvis, activating the same mechanism that allowed the Bajoran women to give birth without pain. If she had panicked, her muscles would have tightened up and she would classify the sensation as pain.

It was so absurd, the panting, sweating moron was probably thinking he had won but in fact, she barely felt his feeble thrusts. She started laughing, he was not going to enjoy this bang. "If I had known that you were so harmless, I would have let you do it weeks ago," she leered in a low condescending voice. He tensed, got out of rhythm and shot her a cautious look that belied his insecurity. Chitta relished his reaction, he expected that she would be either petrified with the shock or screaming with horror and humiliation so she continued, "Your fucking is just as lousy as everything about you."

He got angry, his face flushed red, and he rammed more intensively, hoping she would gasp with pain. She smiled unnervingly and drawled, "Spare you, honey. You might get apoplectic while trying to impress me." He pressed her face in the dirt, he really wanted to silence her, this was not the way he had figured it out while hunting her down. In his fantasies, she was begging for mercy and crying asking him to stop, promising to respect and obey him.

She almost suffocated but managed to giggle, "Is this supposed to turn me on? What have you banged so far – female batos?"

He froze inside her, her nagging was like a cold shower for him, and got out of her as quickly as possible. The bitch was going to regret this; no woman had spoken to him so nastily. He stood up, buckled his trousers, and yelled, "Boys, she is yours, you needn't waste any pity!"

The next one was Svan and he was bigger than Limo so Chitta wondered whether she would experience anything this time. She just took a deep breath and kept her body relaxed telling herself that if she went through it calmly, she could survive and if she survived, she could possibly revenge. It was the same – no drama, no overwhelming sense of helplessness, it reminded her of a visit to a doctor – unpleasant but endurable. She regulated her breathing and kept it slow, just a big sleazy worm rubbing against her.

The guy over her noticed her calm gaze that was wandering from tree to tree and got really angry. The lofty bitch was marveling at the canopies of the trees as though he was not there. He grabbed her jaw to interrupt her reverie. The woman looked at him absent-mindedly, "Oh, I haven't noticed you, but please, do tell me when you come. I really don't want to miss it." The henchman stopped abruptly in the middle of his choppy swing because his hardness melted down. He just slid out and departed, inviting the next one.

Nothing changed, Chitta observed, almost worried about her total lack of body and emotional response. It was boring indeed, she felt as though she was observing the scene from above and it was not her body. She yawned drowsily and mumbled, "Aren't you all brothers sired by a drooling village idiot, I can't tell the difference, you are equally hopeless."

She gloatingly observed that their enthusiasm and jubilee evaporated and they felt quite uneasy and out of place. No doubt they were secretly wondering whether she was nutty or not – no woman had reacted to a gang bang that way. Still, the thugs hid their uneasiness behind empty bragging and jokes, encouraging and teasing each other. The last two members of the gang did it simply to avoid being laughed at by the others. None of them enjoyed the experience, she did not pay them any attention, and they felt as though they were doing it with a corpse.

Finally, when the last one did it just to say he had done it, they gathered around her watching her curiously, they had not met such a resilient beast before. She sat up, made a show of arranging her dress, stretched as though she had just woken up from a fitful nap and threw in caustically, "Is that your best, wankers? I hope the Cardassian will do better."

Bajoran women considered having sex with a Cardassian quite a painful and unpleasant experience. That was why Limo wanted Chitta that badly. Finding a desperate woman ready to go to the Cardies was not easy. Only if her family was dying of hunger or a child needed a medicine did they agree to do it, so Limo provided what was necessary but she had to go to the Cardies three or four times, depending on how much she owed him.

Chitta was an orphan, she had no relatives, and she was brought to the camp merely a month ago. Limo quickly realized that he could sell her to the Cardies as often as he needed to and he did not have to worry that a jealous hubby or an enraged father might cut his throat or stab him in the back.

Limo approached her; he was a thin, agile, 30-year-old man, with the mind of a weasel and the hunch of a tyrfox. He squinted his eyes, it was unbelievable – after being done by seven men she was still defying him, she did not acknowledge his ownership. He shot his hand in a quick movement, grabbed her by the hair full of leaves and dirt and unbelted his trousers again. "You have a dirty mouth, bitch, but I have something to stick in it," he said while pressing her mandible joint to open her mouth.

She suddenly felt rage she had not felt before. It was not like being angry with someone or squabbling over something, there was some warmth in these emotions. It was a wave of creeping cold running over her body, her eyesight sharpened, she started noticing details she had not noticed before, her pulse rate came to normal. Everything slowed down and cadenced into an icy slow motion, the prickle concentrated on her nape and down her spine.

She took a deep breath, adjusted the piece of meat in her mouth, and let it sink deep. After that she clenched her jaws and kept them that way. She heard Limo gasp and then the gasp gradually evolved into a shrill shout but she did not lift her eyes to look at him – she wanted to concentrate on holding unyieldingly and sinking her teeth into his flesh. His men were watching him wondering whether it was a performance or something wrong was going on.

He pulled back frantically, tugging at her hair, but she kept the clench – his backwards motion only served to make the laceration deeper. Every second longer was priceless for her, her own pain did not matter as long as she could listen to his screams and savor the taste of his blood in her mouth.

Finally, one of his men, Virt, Limo's deputy, saw the blood trickling down her jaw and neck and it dawned on him that the blowjob had bordered on a full-fledged lunch. He was a gruff, practical man and had always had the feeling that one day Limo would overreach himself in his blind ambition. He approached them, dealt Chitta a swift blow on the temple, grabbed her jaws with both hands and forced them open. The woman felt dizzy and opened her mouth, fighting back the concussion of the slap.

Virt approached Limo who was howling with pain and looked at his crotch – he had never thought that a woman's teeth could inflict so much damage. It was almost severed in two – in his panic and pain Limo had jerked which only served her purpose.

During Virt's inspection Limo stopped yelling, gradually came to his senses, pushed Virt's hand away from his wounded prick, staggered back, and fell on his ass wondering how to stuff it up back into his trousers. The deputy quickly figured out that they couldn't contact the paramedic of the garrison, he would ask questions, and they had to stop the bleeding and regenerate the tissues themselves.

He sent Svan to bring their best dermal regenerator, some gauze, painkiller, and a disinfectant solution. He ordered two of the other men to guard Chitta because he suspected she might try to run away while they were bustling about Limo. She was observing the scene with vindictive glitter in her eyes, Limo's blood getting gory on her chin and neck. Svan returned quickly and Virt administered the painkiller and started cleaning and repairing the tissues but everyone doubted that Limo would be able to get a boner again. It was a crude dermal regenerator, tissue regenerators were difficult to come by.

After the treatment procedure, Limo was sitting on the ground still under the influence of the painkiller. The lack of pain let him compose his thoughts and he started coming to terms with the scale and irreversibility of the humiliation the bitch had just inflicted upon him. His men were pacing to and fro, casting him and Chitta wary glances, muttering comments to each other, undoubtedly discussing the unflattering peculiarities of his trauma. Limo pointed at the woman who sat on the ground with two men towering next to her and spat through gritted teeth, "Teach her a lesson!"

Virt's irritation at the unexpected complication rose to a bad premonition – raping her was nasty but still the Cardie was going to bang her anyway so the sooner she accepted the facts, the better. She needed to become aware of her vulnerability and helplessness in order to be obedient and cooperative in the future. If they ruined and disfigured her, no one would buy her, besides she might die and a possible investigation would incriminate them – the glinn had seen them while they were keeping her off the food line.

The Cardies kept meticulous tabs on the death rate, the Prefect had issued an order that all instances of violence involving Cardassians or Bajorans in the camps and population centers had to be accounted for. Labor facilities and regions with high death rate and a lot of violence were submitted to a thorough investigation, their overseers reprimanded and in some cases even replaced.

He distinctly recalled that nine months ago, when Glinn Kottrag took over the camp and Limo offered him his services as a Bajoran intermediary, the glinn had made it clear that an increase in violence and death rate would not be tolerated. Limo's gang was making money hand over fist – Virt did not see why they should jeopardize their cozy, profitable position for a stubborn bitch. After being sold to the Cardies several times she would put up with it all the same.

He pointed out mildly, fully aware that Limo was pissed off, "Boss, if we beat her too much, there will be bruises, and the Cardie might refuse to buy her…"

Limo cut him off impatiently and clarified, "Don't hit her on the face, kick her down there. I want her barren, pest like her mustn't breed." He gestured to his men and urged them, "Do it!"

Chitta could not hear the verbal exchange between Limo and Virt but Limo's last gesture aimed at her was explicit enough so she made a desperate effort to crawl back in the ticket behind her but the six of them surrounded her and started kicking her in the ribs, belly and crotch. After each kick she gasped and fought for air and each time it was becoming harder and harder, then someone hit her on the temple and everything blackened at once.

When Chitta came to, she felt splashing water over her body, which was nice, someone was tugging on her hair to keep her head over the water, it was dark, her vision was blurred, but the touch of the cool water over her bruised body was pleasant. The next thing she felt were hasty groping hands running over her body and the unmistakable chemical smell of a Cardassian all-purpose disinfectant, the hands rubbed it all over her, she closed her eyes to prevent them from smarting. The woman groaned with pain when the disinfectant reached her intimate parts and penetrated the multitude of cuts and grazes over her body. Then someone dragged her out of the water and she felt wet sand under her feet, so she inferred that this had to be the river next to the camp.

Chitta discerned several shadows, carrying small flashlights and they pointed them at her. Virt approached her and run the dermal regenerator over her neck and face removing the most visible marks. He inspected her body and shook his head in frustration, "Boss, she is a mess, cuts and bruises all around, some of them are becoming swollen and they will be even more visible in the next few hours. Do we have time to repair her?"

Limo's impatient voice came from the circle of flashlights, "We don't have time, the glinn is waiting for us, besides he never undresses them or looks them in the face, he does them quickly from behind." They hastily pulled her ragged dress over her and removed the marks around the neckline, while Limo was instructing them to remain quiet during the bargain and leave the talking to him. Virt inspected her again, she tried to make a step but lost her balance and Limo shouted, "Keep her upright and clean, put her sandals on her feet, they are squeamish."

Two of them grabbed her by the arms holding her on her feet between them. She sensed a warm trickle moving down her tight and a searing pain bit into her groins, belly, waist and ribs while she was barely putting one leg in front of the other. She was seeing double, she could not make out any details because of the darkness and the concussion but still she noticed that she was not the only one who had problems with walking. Limo's hobble was worthwhile – he was making small steps, trying not to engage his pelvis in the movement.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Remember, you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

Alan A. Milne, "Winnie-the-Pooh"

Glinn Kottrag deactivated a small section of the force field surrounding the garrison and stepped outside. He truly did not know why he was causing this to himself. He knew he would not like it, it was not like being with a normal woman but still it was better than nothing. Limo claimed he was giving the women extra food, medicines and amenities so Kottrag could not understand why they had to be so defensive and reluctant.

If there were holodecks, he would never touch these creatures – they were so wild and hostile to him. But at times his loneliness and discontent were too much to bear and he felt like howling at the stars, full of anger, frustration and tension so a quick one could ease his churn of negative emotions.

At first, he had tried to talk to them, just two adults who want to have some fun and nothing more, but it simply did not work. The women stared at him with a mixture of fear and disgust and winced repugnantly when he touched them. He could not stand their pretences – their useless, lazy husbands treated them like dirt but they considered him a monster. The Bajoran females never failed to inform him that they didn't like him at all, they were doing it for their children and families and they complained all the time how much it hurt.

Well, it hurt him, too – physically and emotionally. He did not think of himself as a monster – he was a dutiful soldier, a loyal citizen of the Cardassian Union, a husband and a father of 2 children. Being here among these intransigent, violent people was a cultural shock for him and he did not know how to interpret their illogical obstinacy. They hated Cardassians but did not seem to be able to manage their world and could not unite and strive for a common goal. Physically, the women were tight and dry which was unpleasant for him.

However, if they managed to relax, it was bearable for both sides. If they were stupid enough to keep bracing against him, the coupling grazed them and made them sore. After the sex they made a great fuss, telling him that they were going to bleed for two days because of him and he simply gave them field rations as a compensation for the experienced inconvenience. This was the only way to silence their grumble and their husbands did not mind the rations, obviously. He never did it face-to-face with them; they never made even the slightest effort to hide their disgust so he went through with the quickie without any sentiments.

He had ordered the gang to bring him a woman tonight and was hoping she would not be too disagreeable. He wondered how the band picked up the women; they were neither too young nor pretty – plain, gruff and waspish. He suspected that Limo's role in the bargain was quite parasitic but how the Bajorans handled it among themselves was not his business. The gang was drawing near and two of the men were holding the woman tightly. Her hair was wet and she was staggering between them so the glinn wondered whether she was sedated.

Limo stepped forward and came to him with a minced, shuffling gait, "Good evening, Glinn Kottrag. We have something special for you tonight – young, fresh, we have just bated her, no sniveling or grumbling. And you can keep her for as long as you wish, she is not in a hurry," he ended his marketing lead-in and waved to his men, "Boys, bring her closer." They dragged her closer but did not use their flashlights.

The glinn was wondering why the Bajoran was wasting his breath – young or middle-aged, grumbling or not, it really did not matter, he was not going to keep her for more than half a bell. Limo added incidentally, "And it will cost you only 2 slips of latinum." Now the Cardassian got it – they were trying to sell her more expensively. He usually gave them a vial of antibiotics or antibacterial spray past expiration date, an old hypospray, a padd or rokat fillet cans.

He pulled a sullen mien and demanded, "And what am I supposed to pay two slips of latinum for?" He stepped toward the woman to have a better look, determined to haggle and decrease the price. Thin, long dark hair, sleeked by the water, pale, whitish skin – this was what he managed to see under the meager light of the Bajoran moons. Her head was limping down, in fact, she was probably drunk, and he got irritated that they charged so much for this pitiful befuddled creature.

He lifted her chin to see her face, not that it mattered but it was part of his strategy to lower the price. She barely opened her eyelids and when her empty stare moved to him, he recognized her immediately – it was the boisterous wench with the striking blue eyes that was fighting the gang several days ago. Obviously, she had lost the battle. He shook off his studied detachment and ordered the men who were holding her to step aside. They did it and when they released their hold, she reeled but managed to stay upright. Kottrag knitted his eyeridges and spat at Limo, "What is wrong with her?"

"Nothing is wrong with her, Glinn. We took the liberty to prepare her for you, to make her timid and obedient. You can do everything with her, she won't oppose you, she won't mind it." Still wondering how much ale or spring wine this preparation might have entailed, the glinn produced two slips from his pocket and threw them to Limo. It was so degrading to bargain with these slimy bastards over a semi-conscious woman. Besides, he was genuinely intrigued who she was and why Limo had declared war against her.

Limo took the latinum and muttered, "Enjoy yourself, Glinn." He beckoned to his men to follow him and quickly skulked off. Kottrag took her by the arm and pushed her toward the deactivated section of the force field but she suddenly collapsed on the ground with a heavy thud. The glinn thought this had to be another strategy of scrounging field rations off him. He squatted next to her, pressing his fingers on her jugular vein. Her pulse was barely palpable and slow but still he had no idea whether it was normal for the Bajorans or not. Still, she was either a very good actress, or it was a real blackout, so he lifted her from the ground, entered the garrison premises and restored the force field.

The Cardassian brought her to the smart-plastic bubble shed used as a storage place for equipment and supplies. He had his little dalliances here, not that it was a secret or some of his soldiers did not indulge in ordering a woman now and then but he would really hate to feed the rumor mill and trespass the decency. Deep inside, it did not feel right but this was not Cardassia after all. There was a light in the shed and he really wanted to have a better look at her. The glinn entered the shed, the light turned on automatically, and he put her on the thermoconcrete floor.

He absently noticed that he did not feel the usual warmth of their skin but put it down to her recent bating in the river. Her condition did not change so he gave her a long stare, a shade of uneasiness was gnawing at him. A darker stripe on her lower leg caught his attention and he touched it, expecting to be mud from the river.

It was dark red blood so he set his gaze on his other hand in astonishment and noticed that it was covered with blood, too. Kottrag quickly lifted her ragged dress and saw that the blood was trickling down her inner tights. He quickly pulled the dress upper and her entire belly, chest, and ribs displayed an abundance of fresh bruises. He quickly figured out where the blood was coming from and looked at the area covered with pubic hair. The blood was forming a puddle between her legs and was soaking in her dress.

So, he had paid two slips of latinum for a dying bitch and the worst part was that she was going to die in his hands so the responsibility would lie with him. "No way," he muttered to himself. The glinn spoke in his comcuff barely hiding his anger, "Paramedic Sentan, report immediately at the supply shed and bring your equipment – scanners, tissue and bone regenerators, hyposprays with adrenaline and cordrazine, combat emergency kits, everything."

When he signed off, he turned her round to inspect her back, it was the same. The Cardassian concluded she must have been kicked to death, but most of the blows had been aimed at the crotch area and the lower part of the belly so this must have caused the bleeding. He really had no idea about the anatomy of the Bajoran women; he knew where to stick it and that was all. In a metric, the paramedic arrived, carrying two containers of equipment.

He glanced at the bleeding, almost naked, alien woman with rolled up dress and then he stared at his commander squatting next to her, his hands covered with blood and speculated whether the glinn had done this. He quickly dismissed the thought – Glinn Kottrag was not by far the most intelligent officer in the Militia but he was no fool. Besides, he was too indecisive for something like this, he was not in favor of extremities and that was why his soldiers respected him. He would never waste them in an outburst of overzealousness; he would keep a low profile, keeping the status quo, saving his life, saving their lives.

Kottrag pointed to the woman and ordered hastily, "Examine her and report." The paramedic approached the woman averting his gaze from her intimate parts, and touched her neck to palpate the pulse. It was soft and out of rhythm, he had to strain to feel it. Her skin was as cold as his own; she was supposed to have a higher temperature.

Sentan ran a scanner over her body, looked at the blood on her tights and explained, "She has lost too much blood and for that reason her body temperature has dropped, her life signs are unstable."

"Then treat her, do something," the glinn scoffed insistently. The paramedic applied adrenaline and cordrazine and her breathing became more discernable.

He continued scanning her and reporting the findings, "She has a brain concussion, two broken ribs and a lot of bruises and lesions caused by blows." He reached her belly and frowned, "Glinn, I am not versed in their reproductive anatomy but I locate a hollow that must be a uterus, a womb, and it is lined by an extremely dense network of blood vessels. One of the main veins on the womb's inner wall is ruptured causing edema of the surrounding tissue and the remaining blood drains through the cervix and the vaginal channel."

"So, what do you suggest?" the glinn insisted.

Sentan announced his medical prognosis calmly, "She can't be saved. The cuts, bruises, fractures, lesions and the brain concussion are repairable but the internal hemorrhage is beyond my scope. I can't open her for major surgery, I have neither the knowledge nor the equipment. These vessels are so many that a whole team would have to ligate them should she be opened. A sole medic would not manage to."

Glinn Kottrag acted as though he did not hear what Sentan had just explained, "Treat what you can, and keep thinking about how to stop the hemorrhage." The paramedic gave him a wary look, the glinn had switched to a battle mode, as though he was leading a strike against a Resistance cell, his usual dullness replaced by a calm and unyielding persistence, dodging obstacles and traps, advancing deca by deca, never losing sight of his goal. And all that because of a dying alien?

Kottrag sensed his doubts and puzzlement and clarified formally, "She is a key witness in an investigation I intend to carry out. An act of violence among the camp inhabitants."

Sentan suddenly got an idea, "If I manage to adjust the tip of the regenerator on an endoscope, I will be able to reach the vein, regenerate it, and heal the edematous tissue around it.

"Well, start doing it," the glinn quickly approved of the suggestion.

The paramedic removed the camera at the tip of the endoscope and dismantled the most precise dermal regenerator for mucosal tissues, gingiva, and veins. Both devices were too incompatible so he regretted his ill-considered proposal; probably it was too precipitate to say it.

The glinn looked at the devices and instructed him, "Disable the electronics of the endoscope and attach the electronics of the regenerator to the endoscope. Make sure the tip, the ray generator, and the trigger are connected, lengthen the fiber cables. Use several rolls of adhesive tape to fix the tip and cables to the endoscope tube, you will need it for no more than 2 metrics. Take out the casing with the ray generator and insulate it next to the trigger. "

Sentan was dumbstruck, he had hot expected that the glinn could come up with a solution that quickly. Whatever it was, it was important for him apparently. He followed his instructions and in 10 metrics he had the strange hybrid device ready to be used. Still, his brilliant idea had other disturbing implications and he ventured haltingly, "Glinn, there is something else, I need the operation area clean, and I will need to navigate the endoscope through her…channel, then through the cervix until I reach the wall of the uterus. So I need to…shave the area first."

"Do it then, whatever it has to be done, do it," the glinn urged him. He was not sure what all this medical terminology meant but he managed to figure out that the paramedic had to touch her down there in order to remove the matted pubic hair. The paramedic had opened the emergency kit for cranial injuries because the shaving tools were included in it – Cardassians had hair only on their heads.

He was squatting with the razor device and the foam disinfectant in his hands, wondering how to start shaving the intimate parts of an alien female. The glinn grunted exasperatedly, he did not tolerate hesitation when it was time for action and took the shaving tools from the paramedic. Without further ado, he spread her legs, sprayed the foam, and started shaving her with long precise movements. Sentan only mumbled apologetically, "I will sterilize the device in the meantime."

Sentan was wondering should he apply some anesthetic while carrying out the treatment. Still, she was comatose and the general anesthetic could suppress her center of breathing and she might never wake up, or at least this was what his experience suggested. He was not sure if this was the case with the Bajorans. He treated only minor fractures and bruises, administered simple medicines for infections and inflammations, and carried out check-ups for the Fostossa virus.

In his view, most Bajorans were simply too malnourished – with better food the respiratory infections, intestinal maladies, the food poisoning cases would be history. He had explained that to the glinn from Terok Nor who inspected the camp the week before. Sentan had always advised his Bajoran patients to boil the water for drinking but most of them never did it and allowed their children to drink the dirty water from the river.

He opted for a local anesthetic and noticed that his operation area had been prepared so he simply had to do it. He gathered himself, cursing the day he decided to join the Paramedic Division, handed the scanner to the glinn and said, "OK, Glinn, please hold the scanner over her belly so that I can see where I am going." Kottrag took the scanner and the hapless paramedic inserted the endoscope into the unconscious woman and looked at the scanner. Inside it was not more different than the anatomy of a Cardassian woman, he reflected while examining the channel.

He spotted many grazes on the mucous lining and pointed them to the glinn, "For your investigation, Glinn, these micro lesions prove that the woman has been raped, quite forcibly, there are also bruises on the labia." The Militia officer acknowledged the information with a nod and his jaw hardened. Limo had just outlived his usefulness for him. The intermediary had raped and beaten her deliberately to humiliate him by selling him a discarded toy he had already played with.

The paramedic looked at the 3-D image provided by the scanner and carefully advanced millimeter by millimeter, regenerating all lesions he encountered. Finally, he reached the vein that was feeding several clusters of smaller vessels. They had begun to shrink due to the insufficient supply of blood. He regenerated the rupture and concentrated on the edematous tissue around it. In a metric, he noticed a visible improvement of the secondary vessels' refill, which suggested that the normal blood flow was restored.

Still, the womb and the cervix were full of blood which was quickly disintegrating into clots but they would drain naturally within one or two days. He administered an anticoagulant intravenously and flushed the clots too to speed up the drainage.

He slowly pulled out the endoscope and reported, "Glinn, I believe in several hours she will regain her consciousness, she will be dizzy, disoriented, all bruises and fractures are treated but still she may feel discomfort and pain in this area." Finally, he administered a universal isotonic solution which most humanoid species responded quite well to. He did not want to run the risk of a plasma transfusion because he did not know how her blood would react to the foreign antigens.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"When I wake up in my makeup  
Have you ever felt so used up as this?  
It's all so sugarless, hooker/waitress  
Model/actress, oh, just go nameless!"

"Celebrity Skin", Hole, 1998

Chitta opened her eyes trying to figure out where she was. The last thing she remembered was the glinn grabbing her arm to lead her inside the garrison. Then nothing. She looked around – the place was definitely Cardassian, it was too sterile and new to be Bajoran. Most Bajoran places were old, decrepit and dirty. There were boxes and containers everywhere; it seemed to be a storeroom.

She was wrapped in some white sheet and covered with a blanket. She found out that the rubbery thing beneath her was an inflatable mattress. The Bajoran woman glanced under the sheet and saw that she was naked and there was a thick piece of antiseptic gauze attached to her crotch with several rolls of adhesive tape. She managed to sit up and a dull pain came from her loins.

Her head was aching and she felt out of focus but she continued inspecting her body. Chitta did not find any black marks or bruises, which was strange considering the beating she had taken. She knew that dermal regenerators existed, but Limo's one was quite primitive and besides, he was not likely to repair her that precisely considering he had ordered the beating in the first place. She concluded that the Cardies must have treated her wounds but still she would like to know where her dress was and what exactly they had done to her.

Her head started spinning, her vestibular system could not compensate for her movements, and she lay down trying to plan a plausible course of action because she expected the Cardies would come soon. She had barely had any personal experience with them; in fact, she had seen Cardassians at close quarters only recently. They were just black figures in the distance, an omnipotent presence that existed beyond one's power and will, like the sunrise or the change of seasons, and everybody said they were dangerous.

She saw Cardassians on the farm where she used to live only when the Fostossa virus killed a lot of the inhabitants. Some people seemed to be immune to the virus others contracted it and perished away within days. Those who remained alive quickly left the haunted place and fled to other farms. She chose to stay and work out a new identity and a new life for herself.

The Cardassians came to the abandoned farm and burned it down to limit the spread of the disease. They issued new documents for her because she deliberately let her real ID card and all documents burn in the fire. Her plan was to find a way to leave the planet under new identity. It was not only because of the Occupation, she simply did not fit, and she did not like the cards that destiny had given her to play with.

The young woman had never been able to put up with having to spend her life like her parents, cowed by the landowners, servile, lowering her head to Ih'valla, Te'nari, Mi'tino, Ke'lora, prylars, ranjens – all of them were considered better people than her by birth right. She was Sern'apa – the d'jarra of the servants. Her parents had never questioned their lot but she had too many questions and too much pride for her own good and she had long decided that their choices would never be her choices.

Her stray thoughts harked back to the farm flashing incoherent unbidden memories. She saw herself, sitting on a meadow, about six years old, while her father was turning hay; that was her best memory. Then came the memories from the local school but she shooed them away, she hated it, when they told her that she had to sit in the back row and keep quiet and never talk without permission. The children from the upper j'arras sat in the front rows, closer to the prylars and they paid attention to them, encouraged them to talk and discuss. When she tried to join the discussions, the prylar always reminded her of her status and the children mocked her that she did not need to be very clever in order to cook and clean. She missed her parents and her early childhood, before the realization that her life and options were predestined, and there was no room for any improvisations.

Chitta broke off the reminiscence, the farm was behind her back, any semblance of commonplace normality had vanished into thin air the moment she entered the camp so she had to return to her current problem. It crossed her mind that she had been repaired too carefully to be killed that easily. She stuck to that comforting thought and dozed away again, it had been two weeks of constant running, fighting, lurking, planning, and hiding. One way or another she was going to find out soon.

Two bells later, the door opened and the sound of boots on the thermoconcrete floor bored its way through her drowsiness. It was one pair of boots, only one Cardie. She could pretend to be unconscious but it was high time she had found out what was going on so she opened her eyes and looked at the Cardassian towering over her mattress. Some of Limo's bastards were big, hefty brutes, but this one was huge and looked grim.

She forced herself not to avert her gaze, his grayish eyes were fixed on her, but she could not discern any emotion. They stared at each other for half a metric and finally the Cardassian broke the silence, "Are you OK?"

Chitta was wondering how she understood him and was not sure whether he would understand her but still she answered boldly, "Never been better, thank you."

To her surprise the left corner of his mouth twitched slightly and his countenance warmed a little. Their faces were not that expressionless after all, she could tell he was not angry and did not want to harm her; he was simply wary and insecure. They obviously had some form of sense of humor because he almost smiled at her sarcastic reply. He composed his features again and demanded, "What happened? Why did Limo's men bring you in such a condition?"

This was the most stupid question she could think of, he had requested a woman, after all, and he had not specified how this woman had to be delivered to him. So Chitta spat an equally stupid answer, "Because it was the only condition that would enable them to bring me here," she silenced checking his reaction. She realized he did not get it, his eyeridges lifted slightly, the way Bajorans raised their eyebrows when they did not understand or were surprised. She narrowed her eyes to make out the details of his face expression and reworded her answer, "If I had been in a better condition, they would have never managed to bring me here."

Kottrag truly did not know how to place her behavior – was she still disoriented because of the concussion or she really meant it. She was looking at him fearlessly and attentively, with deep intense stare, she did not strike him as woozy. The woman did not seem afraid either and came up with quite a clever answer, considering he had blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"So, they kicked you to death to bring you here," he summarized incredulously, his voice belying his disbelief.

She nodded and affirmed without blinking, "Yes, you can put it that way". He tilted his head and regarded her with a mixture of puzzlement and suspicion. If Limo had some scores to settle with her, it was understandable, not that it was acceptable, but a typical inter-Bajoran conflict. The Cardasssian had always thought that the women profited from the deal. They hissed and grouched at him, they shrank from their part of the deal, but still they came voluntarily.

"Why?" he curtly insisted. Chitta could not believe her ears, was he stupid or her explanation was insufficient or he was trying to give her a hard time. She sensed a constrained persistence behind the question; he intimated that her answer was unsatisfactory.

She raised her eyebrows in an exaggerated display of innocence and surprise and returned the question, "Why what?"

Her bitter experience had taught her that cocky, gritty behavior might force an opponent to reconsider their belligerent intentions and opt for easier victims. That way – by out-bluffing and not yielding – she had survived many clashes in her village. When it did not help, she simply fought, she was a good street fighter because her brother had taught her well before leaving the village. Her parents had spent the last years of their lives constantly apologizing for their daughter who refused to accept the fact that Sern'apa girls knew their place.

The Cardassian dutifully repeated, trying to decipher her expression, "Why did they have to beat you? He sensed she was mocking or avoiding the answer, but he expected a more substantial reason.

The nervy bitch just shot him an exasperating glance and repeated emphatically, "To bring me here, of course."

He snorted and shook his head, in fact Chitta found his reaction almost comical, he had just realized that the conversation was going in circles.

Chitta made use of his silence and confusion and asked flat-out, "What happened when I passed out?"

The Cardie shrugged his shoulders and replied picking up his words carefully, he obviously found it oppressive, "I brought you here and the paramedic managed to fix your injuries. In fact, they were quite severe."

Chitta averted her gaze for a second and then uttered sincerely, she really meant it, "Well, thank you."

The Cardassian did not say anything – 'you are welcome' did not seem appropriate, as though he was wishing her the same thing to happen again. He turned around and announced before making for the door, "I will bring you some food and water. The paramedic said you should drink a lot of water."

The Bajoran woman would appreciate more details but she did not want to push her luck and simply nodded. The glinn was going to come again so she would probably get another opportunity to find out what exactly had happened. When he left she sat up and wrapped the sheet around her body, like a tight dress and covered her shoulders with the blanket. She leaned her head against one container to keep it up, her movements were slow and halting, she was drained, whatever he decided to do with her, she could not stop him.

Still, he did not seem cruel, people said they were cold-blooded killers and could do terrible things without showing regrets or mercy. He definitely cut a threatening presence, well over 6 feet, a neck twice the size of a Bajoran neck, these knotty ridges over his face made him even fiercer. You definitely don't want to provoke and fight such a creature. But although grim and suspicious he did not create the impression of someone who would indulge in useless violence and would enjoy inflicting pain. Most people she knew would not listen to her evasive retorts that patently for that long.

The Cardassian returned with a bowl of soup containing semi-boiled katterpod and kava root with some pieces of poultry meat. She was surprised to find out that they ate Bajoran foodstuffs but still all ingredients of the dish needed more cooking. The bread was even worse – dough between two charred crusts. She thought this had to be the leftovers but was too hungry to be picky, so she thanked him politely and started eating.

Actually she had never known what hunger was before being sent to the camp. She came from a rich agricultural region that produced crops and meat. The big landowners worked for the Cardassians but when they fulfilled their quotas, they still had plenty to sell. Her mother worked as a cook in the landowners' manor and her father was a farmhand. The Fostossa virus was brought by drifting stragglers who trudged from place to place trying to avoid falling under the Cardassian administration. They knew this was a prosperous region and hoped to find food and job at the peak of the harvesting season.

The Cardie watched her with amusement and pointed out, "Garresh Varga would be very delighted that someone liked his cooking."

Chitta gave a noncommittal sound while gulping the last mouthful and explained, "I haven't eaten anything since that field ration you gave me 2 days ago." The glinn's face soured at the reminder, he really had to dig into the matter then, at the food line, but he had not done it, so the incident had backfired on him.

When Chitta finished, the Cardassian left a container with water and a tin next to her and ordered, "Drink water."

She drank two tins, she felt dehydrated, but something else bothered her. She needed to go to the toilet and was racking her brains how to say it. She finally decided that there was only one way of doing it, she had to say it. "You know what, Glinn…I need to go…outside, you know."

The glinn, visibly embarrassed, nodded to the other end of the store, "This way." She could not stand up by herself; she had to keep the sheet and the blanket in place but was too weak and needed her arms to push herself up. The Cardie turned to her expectantly and she gave him an apologizing lip curl while trying to scramble to her feet. He simply returned to her mattress, lifted her quickly, and headed for the other end of the store with Chitta staggering after him.

There was a 'fresher, it was convenient and much better than the dirty latrines in the camp. No one used them, everyone preferred to go to the bushes around. When Chitta undid the medical tape of her gauze, she was quite shocked but she did not have time to contemplate it because of a dull pain in her kidneys, which were still sore by the kicks.

She managed to adjust her gauze back, cleaned her hands, put on her sheet and blanket and left. The Cardie was waiting for her, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. She stared at him amazed, shook her head, and threw in, "I must have kept you and your paramedic quite busy."

He confirmed dismally, "Yes, it was quite messy, you were bleeding…down there, we stopped it."

The Bajoran woman returned to her inflatable mattress and sat on it and the glinn took a seat on one of the containers. He was mulling over something giving her occasional glances and she could tell it was something unpleasant. Finally, he ventured, "Limo and his gang are in the garrison detention cell and in several days they will be sent to a mining facility with forced labor on account of what they have done to you and other felonies."

Chitta did not say anything, she just watched his face expression. He was quite off color while explaining this, she could read the tension in his eyes under the ridges and his voice sounded strained. He definitely did not like the topic. He shifted his gaze to her and inquired, "Could you tell me why Limo's gang was chasing you, then at the food line?" Now Chitta grasped it – he was trying to assure her that Limo couldn't revenge on her.

In fact, she was happy that the Cardie was going to get rid of Limo and his minions. She shrugged her shoulders, wondering how to word her bitter observations on something so self-evident. She simply knew that people did terrible things to each other because they could, because this fueled their ego or could make money out of it and because they counted on the indifference of those who were not directly concerned. "Well, I am an orphan and I was brought to the camp a month ago…" she began tentatively.

The glinn nodded, produced a padd and raised his hand to silence her, "What is your name, by the way?"

"Tamil Chitta," she answered.

Chitta was her real first name, but Tamil was the surname of their Te'nari overseer who died on the farm. She took his earring and told the Cardassians who came to the farm that she was his daughter, so they issued her documents under this name. The overseer also had a valid pass to the transport hub in Musilla so as an only surviving family member she had the right to use it.

Kottrag retrieved the information and read it aloud, "Tamil Chitta, 18 years old, brought from a farm in the village of Likra, Musilla province. No relatives, the entire farm deserted and consequently destroyed due to an outburst of the Fostossa virus."

"Yes, Glinn…" she trailed off awkwardly because it had just occurred to her that she did not know his name. The people in the camp referred to him as "the glinn" or "the Cardie in charge."

He presented himself busily, "I am Glinn Kottrag."

"Yes, Glinn Kottrag," she confirmed, she needed his support and grudgingly had to give him credit for his efforts. He could let her die, just another Bajoran who died because of casual violence, bad living conditions, poverty or lack of medical care outside the scope of the official administration.

"So, Miss Tamil, what happened?" he raised his eyeridges at her, indicating that he was not going to tolerate her beating around the bush.

She gathered herself and tried to produce something sensible, "Limo wanted to use me for his own fun, to pass me to his people and to sell me to… you and your people. I wanted to avoid it," she hoped it was enough.

The Cardie looked at her with a hint of suspicion, "I was left with the impression that the women Limo…provided do this willingly. They may not enjoy it but it is profitable for them. Are you sure there isn't another reason for what has happened to you?"

Chitta's eyes flashed with anger, as though it was her fault that she had been raped and beaten to death. However, she quickly lowered her gaze, anger was not going to help her, she had to convince him, to make him understand. So be it, Cardie, have your truth. It was his camp after all; if he did not know what was going on in his own camp, so much the worse for him and she was not going to spare him the ugly facts.

She took a breath and replied coldly, "It is profitable but not for the women. He racketeers them, threatens their children and relatives, he cuts off their access to the food lines or they are indebted to him – he has given them extra food and medicines or has settled a case in favor of their families. Still, if he presses them too hard, their brothers, fathers or husbands are likely to interfere so he can use each woman only three or four times at the best."

The Cardie was listening carefully, his face expression darkening with each passing word. The explanation had obviously struck home because he did not say anything when she finished and his gaze gradually lost its insistence and became quite perturbed. Finally, he averted his eyes and pretended to be looking at the padd.

He had created this – he was responsible for the bloody mess. Limo and his gang were the actual perpetrators but they had been able to do it because he had entrusted the duty of administering the camp to them. He recalled the old Cardassian saying "Trust is good but control is better." His unwillingness to adopt a hand-on approach to negotiating arguments and maintaining the law and order had made way for Limo's twisted practices of supervision. The situation had gone out of hand because his indecisiveness and negligence.

The worst part was that he had always suspected that Limo's actions were questionable at the best but had pushed aside his misgivings by telling himself that the Bajorans should feel much better if they had one of their own dealing with the camp on an everyday basis. Now he understood the reluctance of the women, they really did it to save their families from Limo and did not get anything from the deal.

The Cardassian finally spoke, "I see, Miss Tamil, I don't have further questions." It was obvious he did not like what she had told him but he was not angry with her. He added, "You had better have some sleep, I will bring you some food and water later."

Chitta sensed he was off guard, plucked her courage and asked meekly, "Glinn Kottrag, can I have my dress back? I can't sit covered in sheets and blankets all the time."

He gladly switched to daily trifles and informed her, "Your dress is beyond repair. It was torn and soaked in blood. I will try to provide you with another dress." On saying this he produced an earring from his pocket and left it next to her. "We found this, I suppose it is yours."

"Yes, it is," the Bajoran woman confirmed, it was her original Sern'apa earring.

The glinn assumed his administrative impersonality and continued, "Any documents or personal belongings to be retrieved from the camp?"

Chitta swallowed hard and managed, "No, Glinn, nothing." She had planned to spend several days in the camp and head for Musilla or at least this was her intention. Her new ID card, the pass to Musilla and her clothes were the first thing the gang stole, making it impossible for her to leave the camp. Any Bajoran without an ID card and a pass was considered a thief and vagrant and was likely to end up in a facility with forced labor.

The glinn left quickly and she angrily pulled the Te'nari earring out of her ear. She had hoped that this earring would make her people treat her with more respect but she was wrong. Te'nari, Sern'apa – it was the same old shit. This world was not her world, these people were not her people. There were so many planets out there, why should she stay here? To marry some peasant like Limo and spend her life working for him, washing for him, cooking for him and raising slovenly, ignorant children as useless as their father.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Every soldier thinks something of the moral aspects of what he is doing. But all war is immoral and if you let that bother you, you're not a good soldier."

General Curtis LeMay

In the evening, Glinn Kottrag returned to check up on Chitta and to bring her some food and a dress. He had simply gone to the river and pinched one dress from the clotheslines. He did not want to send any of his soldiers to do it for him – it was too personal. He pitched on his last observation and deliberated it – since when did it become personal? Just a case of violence that he had triggered. He really felt sorry for the girl and was disgusted with himself as well. He had never bethought himself that the women he ordered came to him at such a price.

He gave her the food and sat on one container looking down at the ground and at the wall in front of him. She started eating with enthusiasm, and cast him curious glances trying to pick up his mood. She decided that a small talk might brighten up the tawdry atmosphere. "You know, Glinn Kottrag, I was wondering whether you consider this food tasty, I mean according to the Cardassian taste," she ventured lightly.

The Cardassian stared at her and then chuckled, "We are notorious for bad cuisine, but this is too vile even for us."

Chitta smiled smugly – he definitely reacted well to her invitation for a small talk and continued, "Then why don't you find someone to cook for you?"

The question was relevant, the officer had to admit it. "Because no one of us can do it. We are infantry soldiers, not cooks. Under normal conditions we have replicators."

Chitta's curiosity took the better of her and she exclaimed, "You mean these machines that produce everything?"

"Well, not everything but they produce food and drinks," the glinn clarified, he had always taken them for granted, but now he was ready to kill for one. He vividly imagined clutching his hands around the throat of the useless paper shuffler who had decided to put them on a diet of local specialties.

"Is the food better than the real one?" Chitta went on – once she started asking questions and found someone stupid enough to answer them, she was unstoppable. The prylar at the village school firmly believed that one day her curiosity would lead her straight to the Fire Caves.

"Not better, but it is edible," the Cardie shrugged his shoulders, thinking wistfully of his wife's dishes.

"You may not believe it, but I am a good cook, it goes with my d'jarra, we have been cooks and kitchen staff for 14 generations," she informed him loftily, hoping that if he deemed her valuable, he might find some good job for her, a servant in a Cardassian settlement or a canteen. She did not plan to spend the rest of her life digging kava roots or working in a factory.

The glinn gave her an incredulous stare – he had never known that their caste system could determine their jobs for generations on end, he considered it only a source of quarrels. "Oh, really? In fact, we value traditions too, I am a fifth-generation soldier, the men in my family have been serving the Union since it was founded 500 years ago."

"That is great," Chitta replied dutifully impressed, it sounded bumptious but still sincere. She sensed the hidden thrill behind his words and added, "You must be very proud of that."

"Yes, I am, I do believe that my job is important for the Union," he silenced, recalling his flagrant sloppiness in attending to the camp matters and whitewashed, "But I really would like to be somewhere where I can make a difference, where it really matters…" He stopped himself, he did not expect her to understand his total frustration at being dumped here.

"Well, it really matters to me that you are here, if this can be of any help," Chitta gallantly tapered off his grumbling. Her rejoinder caught him by surprise, it crossed his mind that he had never talked to a Bajoran that long, let alone a Bajoran female. She was friendly and communicative, she did not stare at him full of fear and disgust.

The Cardassian took the empty bowl and instructed her to keep drinking water. Then he returned carrying a big container with hot water, a towel, some disinfectant and some gauze and instructed her, "The paramedic said you should bathe yourself and change the gauze. I will bring the water to the 'fresher and I hope you can handle it from there."

When she finished, she left the makeshift bathroom covered with the sheet and the blanket and he handed her the dress, "I managed to find this, it should do."

Chitta looked at the blue dress barely suppressing her laughter. It was the size for a 14-year-old girl. She was not sure she would wriggle into the dress and even if she did it, it would be too tight and short for her. Still she had lost quite a lot of weight since she came to the camp and Limo cut her off the food lines. Besides, she did not want to insult the Cardassian who apparently was doing his best to look after her so she thanked him and headed for the fresher to try it on.

She managed to get into the dress but as she expected it was too tight and too low-cut, providing a good view of her cleavage. It was for a shorter woman, her breasts almost burst through the fabric, and it did not cover her knees. She left the 'fresher and the glinn gaped at her with sheer astonishment. He had never thought that an alien woman could be that attractive. Bajoran women usually wore long dresses in drab brownish colors that never accentuated their bodies.

But this was something completely different and everything was where it should be. And the skin, it was so unusual, white with some pinkish hue, he felt the foolish desire to run his hand all over this white soft skin that did not have any ridges or scales to rub into. He had always found their faces bland and void of character, they looked the same to him, the lack of cranial ridges made it difficult to differentiate, but he found her broad face with simple definite features appealing.

There was something animalistic in the curves of her big lips and defined jaw line, the chin was resolute with a pronounced dimple. Even the wrinkles on her nose were cute, giving it more character. He compared the size of the dress and her body and realized that she was quite big for a Bajoran woman, the contrast between the thin waist and the hips was almost Cardassian. Cardassian women liked to accentuate their waists.

She smiled at him while watching his reaction, "Next time you can bring me a dress for a 10-year-old, it would be even more interesting."

"Yes, indeed," he confirmed sheepishly, trying hard to avert his gaze from her bosom. He felt a complete idiot, embarrassed and exposed. "Well, I have to go, Miss Tamil," the Cardie mumbled and almost ran out of the store room.

Chitta was baffled – he did not mind having sex with an anonymous, unwilling woman but once he started to view her as another person, not just a Bajoran, and realized that she was not afraid of his interest in her he reacted like a priggish, ashamed boy. She did not mind him ogling her that way because she did not spot any threat in his behavior. Even before the rape, she had had a good deal of fights and brawls with the opposite sex. Her challenging attitude had provoked so many sexist slights that she never thought of men as anything but potential enemies and targets.

There were a lot of men and boys in her village who watched her with a mixture of desire and scorn and she never failed to tease and piss them off and show them how much she despised them. There was hardly a boy at her school who she or her brother had not thrashed properly. When these boys became teenagers they started to wolf call after her, giving vent to their self-assurance and adding new nuances to their old grudges.

Their fathers and elder brothers secretly longed for cornering her in a barn or having a roll in the hay with her but fortunately, they had never tried to fulfill their fantasies, they were just plain farmers after all. Subconsciously, they sensed she was different, a predator who was gnawing at the remains of their society opposing the timeless status quo. The most infuriating thing was that she looked better than most Bajoran women and she carried herself provokingly and defiantly. The fact that they could never lay their hands on a woman like her made them sublimate their frustration into malevolent invectives.

To make the situation worse she did not react to their insults the way a normal girl would. When a group of boys or young men cat-called a girl, she usually blushed, lowered her head, sloped her shoulders, and tried to scurry out of their sight as quickly as possible, especially if she was from a lower d'jarra. Chitta never gave them that satisfaction – she stopped, made several steps towards them to show them that she did not consider them a treat at all, and pierced them to the bone with her unusual, almost witch eyes.

Then she would smile at them unnervingly and return their insults slowly and pointedly, while they were gradually losing their temper. At the same time, she was working out escape routes and attack priorities and was keeping an eye on the passers-by. The angrier they got, the funnier it was because at some point they could not think of new insults and they just departed sputtering the same curses. Still, if there were not passers-by they would give chase to her but she had a strategy how to shake them off or let the first attacker approach her and quickly throw him off balance while he was running.

Chitta bitterly reflected that the whistling and whooping idiots in her village would approve of what Limo did to her and would be happy to have a go, too. Not only because of the sex itself – what they would enjoy most would be to see her defeated and humiliated. She did not feel that ambivalence in the Cardie, his interest in her was genuine and direct. He reacted like a normal male to an attractive female without any undercurrent of complexes, biases or hidden denegation. And despite the odds, she found him quite attractive. She kept reprimanding herself that he was an enemy, an oppressor, but no matter how much she searched her feelings, she could not find a personal reason to hate him.

At first, she did not like him, these cranial ridges looked so weird, but she was taken with his neck and movements. His long strides mesmerized her, it was worth watching. She had never seen the slogging, awkward farmhands in her village move like that. She really wanted to touch these ridges and scales and was curious whether they were like a callus or like a horn, or they were sensitive like a real skin.

She wondered what their skin was like – she knew that it was colder than hers, but it reminded her of the belly of a lizard. As a child, her father had caught a lizard for her and let her hold it in her hands and she distinctly remembered the roughness of its scales under her fingers, it was like touching sandpaper.

He was handsome, but not banally mawkish. In fact, it took her time to get over the initial impression of sullenness and reticence. Once she discerned certain regularity in the interaction between his face muscles and the ridges above them, she guiltily caught herself warming to his features and body language. He definitely had a presence, but no one would call him cute. But still what impressed her most was his calm demeanor, it was so different from everything she had seen so far.

Unfortunately, the women in the camp had never noticed these aspects of his appearance or personality, and he obviously did not try to dispel their fears. He had accepted the fact that they hated him and had stopped making any efforts to show his positive side. So I am a monster, so be it, whatever I do, I will be a monster, why should I bother then? She truly could not understand why he had to put up with their bitching, he could have something better, and he did not strike her as someone who enjoyed tormenting women. Still, the women said it was like being put through a cheese grinder but Chitta could not imagine what could be more unpleasant than having someone like Limo around.

In the meanwhile, Glinn Kottrag had returned to his quarters – only a niche with a bunk attached to a kitchenette but still he had his own quarters. The two gils – ammunition and ordnance – they shared a room and the paramedic was quartered with the drill garresh who the soldiers called "Mommy" but strictly behind his back. The rank and file, the reshes, were accommodated in groups of three, which was not that bad after all because they could prate at length, joke, banter, play kotra or drink together. Kottrag secretly envied their boorish, uncomplicated camaraderie, he missed those days when he was one of them, and he did not have to make decisions and to be responsible for so many things.

All he could do in the evenings was to sit alone and think of his wife and children back home. Then he started blaming himself for fucking other females and finally he justified his actions with the fact that they were not Cardassian and did not count. If he had a Cardassian mistress and was ignoring his lawful wife that would be inexcusable but they were hardly people. But if they were not people, what was he fucking – animals?

Tonight he had some work to do so he did not have time for these complex moral dilemmas plaguing his simple soldier mind. He was trying to calculate how much katterpod, kava root and meat were required to cook a portion with an energy value of 1000 calories. He also had to find out what the energy value of the mapa bread was and what amount equaled 1000 calories.

Earlier that day he had interrogated Limo's men and they had confessed that the collaborators sold food supplies to Limo who consequently resold them or traded them for services and valuable items. It was not much of an interrogation – he simply separated Limo from his men and promised them that if they spilled out everything and did not try his patience, he would not send them to a mining facility. He did not intend to keep his promise, of course, he considered them as guilty as Limo, but it was a simple and effective way to make them talk without having to apply more severe motivation techniques.

He truly hated interrogations; he had assisted in several and could distinctly recall the screams and the nauseating smell of the blood, fear, sweat, and adrenaline pervading the interrogation chamber. In a battle everything happened quickly besides the enemies had weapons too or they could run away at least so it was perfectly legitimate to kill them. The interrogations were slow, they took several hours, and he had to watch the subject's condition deteriorate with every passing hour and each procedure applied.

Still he hid his disgust and gathered himself, he never showed any reluctance or hesitation, he behaved absolutely professionally; no one could blame anyone of the Kottrag bloodline for being a sentimental sissy. He did not wince, he did what the interrogator told him to do, he handed him the devices he requested with a firm, unshaken hand, he attached the electrodes where he was told to and finally he cleared up the blood and other remains but it was nasty.

He was a garresh then, almost 15 years ago but he was not sure he had the stomach to pursue a career as an interrogator. Besides, he doubted he was clever enough. Interrogation did not involve only being able to inflict the exact amount of pain without killing the subject, you had to formulate your questions very trickily and to monitor the subject's reactions. It was a highly skilled work but not everybody could do it.

He did not know anything about the katterpod and kava root, he had to find out the amount of vegetables and meat for one serving and then multiply it by 500 in order to calculate the daily food allotment for the camp. And he reminded himself to position two of his soldiers to monitor the entire process of food preparation – from taking the sacks from the storage house to cooking and servicing the food lines. The prescription of the province gul said 45 sacks of kava root, 45 sacks of katterpod, 50 kg of meat (no matter what), 250 kg of mapa floor.

Although the collaborators were as guilty as Limo's gang, he could not get rid of them that quickly because preparing food for 500 people day-to-day was too complicated to entrust it to someone who did not know the technicalities. He planned to circulate a questionnaire in order to gather information on the camp resident's jobs and select 10-15 Bajorans with experience in food preparation. He could include Miss Tamil in this new team, she qualified the requirements and besides the poor woman would never go hungry again.

He undressed, had a shower, and poured himself a glass of kanar while pondering over the figures on his padd. He did not feel like having dinner or nibbling dry field rations and hoped that the kanar would not trigger heartburn in his empty stomach. His wife would never let him touch the bottle on an empty stomach but she was not here. If she were here, his stomach would not be empty in the first place. He wondered how hungry Miss Tamil must have been to eat that food so eagerly.

The Cardassian finished his kanar and deactivated the padd – he could not do the calculations because he did not know the energy values of the ingredients. Probably he could file a request for this information with the Food Supply Department of the province. He carried his underwear to the washing device in the kitchenette. It had nothing to do with the sonic wave sterilizers on the ships and in the big settlements. They cleaned the clothes quickly without damaging them or making them wet.

This washing device operated with water from the river and no matter how much detergent he put in the water it finally produced wet, shrunk, wrinkled rags. Like everything else in this shitty place. The glinn truly hoped this planet was as valuable as they said. It had better be, because being stuck here for nothing, surrounded by angry, hungry aliens was terrible.

Still, it could be worse, he thought. Patrolling the hills and woods where the Resistance cells hid, his hands and feet numb with cold, the sensors dead because of kelbonite sedimentations in the ground, advancing purely by hunch and hard-won experience. The Cardassian bitterly reflected that right now the Resistance was killing another soldier with numb hands and feet who, while dying, was hoping that his military allowance would be enough to feed his wife and children.

Sometimes he wondered whether he should let his son who was 15 to become a soldier. It was unpatriotic and Kottrag was a highly respected name in the Militia but his family had sent enough sons for the Militia. Probably he could persuade him to become a data bases operator or a technician. Household appliances, replicators, air con systems, heaters, refrigerators, sterilizers, padds, screens, consoles – these things broke down all the time, he could make a decent living without having to die, without having to stay on a cold planet howling like a hungry riding hound.

The washing device finished its cycle and the officer started taking out the wet clothes. He looked at the thick under-vest he wore beneath his armor – it was creased beyond recognition. Fortunately, the sleeve plates of the armor covered the folds. His wife would know how to make it without creases, he caught himself thinking but then he drove off the thought, he did not want to torment himself with things he could not change.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Circumstances can force a generalized incompetent to become competent, at least in a specialized field."

Freeman's rule

Glinn Kottrag entered Chitta's shed bringing her breakfast if the fried dough with some meat shavings could be called that way. Resh Modar who pulled the KP duty this day said he would try to make his wife's pancakes and he almost succeeded apart from the fact that the dough in the middle remained uncooked. Then he had the brilliant idea of cutting them in half and frying the inside too with some meat floating like a touch of luxury in the sizzling oil.

The whole kitchen looked like the ground zero of a chemical attack and his roommates advised him jokingly to put on his gas mask while he was running among the smoking pans taking out the fried pieces of dough before they burnt. Still, it was the most edible thing that someone had ever managed to cook and Glinn Kottrag promised to nominate him for the Proficiency Service Medallion.

Chitta was sitting on her mattress and covered her bare legs with the sheet when he entered the room. She smiled at him innocently and said, "Good morning, Glinn Kottrag."

"Good morning, Miss Tamil," he answered and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. Chitta took this as a good sign, he looked much more relaxed than last night. He left the breakfast next to her, sat on his usual place on one of the containers, and inquired, "How do you feel?"

"I feel great," she replied, her smile getting even wider.

He raised his eyeridges at her in mock surprise and observed, "I am glad to hear that someone here really feels great."

She was fully sincere and explained, "I don't feel any pain, I am not dizzy, I don't have a headache."

"Yes, the paramedic said you would be fine soon," the Cardassian confirmed.

Chitta really wanted to ask him what he planned to do when she was fine but instead, she flashed another dazzling smile and returned his question, "What about you, Glinn?"

The glinn gave her a puzzled stare, cocking his head on his long neck, "What about me?"

"How are you this morning?" the woman spell it out for him, she really found his raised eyeridges amusing.

The Cardassian could not remember anyone on this planet ever inquiring about his well-being and answered, "Quite well, thank you. I even managed to have breakfast." He jerked his head to the fried pieces of dough covered with meat shavings and ascertained, "It is edible. I am planning to keep this guy in the kitchen forever, no more patrolling for him."

Chitta took a bite and confirmed, "Much better, at least it is fried on both sides, no dough left. Still, if he monitors the temperature of the oil and fries them more slowly, he will be able to put the meat inside and it won't be that dry." He nodded while watching her eating. This had been Modar's plan but he could not put it into practice.

"I guess you really know about cooking," he acknowledged her assessment.

Chitta accepted his recognition with a royal smile and confirmed, "Yes, Glinn, I do."

The Cardassian suddenly got an idea – she might know the energy values of the katterpod, kava root, mapa flour and the meat. "Do you know the energy value of the kava root?" he inquired.

Chitta assumed he knew it and was just testing her but still she swallowed her bite and answered calmly, "Yes, I do. 100 grams of kava root have an energy value of 200 calories. It is fibrous and rich in vitamins, a succulent."

"I see," the glinn said and his countenance indicated that he had not known it before. He seemed totally engulfed in the conversation and quickly shot his next question, "And what about the katterpod?

Chitta raised her eyebrows while munching, she really did not expect to have such a conversation with a Cardassian soldier but it was better than questioning her about the circumstances that had brought her into his care so she replied eagerly, "It is leguminous, it has higher energy value, 100 grams equal 400 calories." The Cardie virtually lit up and Chitta really appreciated his good mood.

He nodded approvingly and furthered, "What proportion of kava root, katterpod and meat would you use in order to produce a broth or a soup with an energy value of 1000 calories per serving?" The remaining 1000 calories had to be mapa bread." Chitta chuckled, she was an intuitive cook and never bothered with proportions and exact recipes, but just glanced at the products and played it by ear. Cooking was an adventure and an act of creation, not a dull repetition. Besides, it depended on the availability of the products.

"It depends, Glinn. If I were rich, I would put more meat and katterpod and less kava, if I were poor I would make it bulkier by putting more kava as a filler and less meat and katterpod."

The glinn hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders and generalized, "Something in the middle, the average case."

"OK, let me see," the Bajoran woman stopped eating, her brows knitted while she was making the calculations and finally she announced, "I would put 100 grams of cava, that is 200 calories, 100 grams of katterpod which is 400 calories, 100 grams of poultry meat – it is the cheapest – this is 200 calories. I would add 15 grams of vegetable oil which is 120 calories and 20 grams of mapa flour as a thickener which is 75 calories."

"That's great," the Cardassian was really pleased with the precise calculation. Now what about the mapa bread, does it have the same energy value as the flour?"

Chitta rolled her eyes, only a man could ask such a question, and explained patiently. "No, that is impossible. Bread contains water and backing powder or yeast to make it porous so its energy value is lower, 100 grams equal 240 calories."

The glinn grasped it and nodded, 400 grams of mapa bread was the daily ration for an adult Bajoran. "I got it, now I have to multiply everything by 500," he muttered, preoccupied with calculations while producing his padd to enter the final figure for each foodstuff.

Chitta shot him a quizzical look and remarked, "Why so much, I thought you had about 20 or 30 soldiers."

"It is not for my soldiers, it is for the camp residents," he replied absentmindedly while typing on his padd.

Chitta gave a bark of bitter, scornful laughter and snapped, "Do you really think that someone will let the camp residents have so much food? They will receive no more than a third of it." It sounded so rough and hoarse that he looked at her in puzzlement.

Her amiable, friendly disposition was replaced by a cold sneer, her blue eyes turning flinty and dark under her well-shaped brows. He knew that Bajorans were emotional but he did not realize that their feelings could change so rapidly. It was like having two completely different people. Nevertheless, her anger made her so spirited and attractive that he could not help but teasing her even more.

He pulled a face of exaggerated displeasure and drawled quietly, "And why not?"

The Bajoran woman snorted, the wrinkles on her nose deepened and she asserted, "Because you can't monitor the whole process from bringing the food to the kitchen to cooking it and distributing it at the food lines." It was her field of expertise after all. If he did not want her professional opinion, why did he bother to ask her?

His neck bulged with defiance, he leaned back measuring her with a stare of mocking anger and chaffed back, "Are you ready to bet on that?"

She did not know how to place his behavior – at first sight, the Cardassian looked angry and offended, but on the other hand, his eyes were glittering with concealed laughter. Obviously he enjoyed arguing with her and found her emotional reaction quite amusing and stimulating. So she decided to play along and accept the challenge. She spread her arms in a gesture of resignation, giving him a better view of her breasts under the tight dress and replied wistfully, "I would love to, Glinn. But I have nothing to bet, even the dress on my back in not mine."

He gladly accepted the opportunity for banter and insisted, "And if you had?"

The Cardassian definitely was enjoying her response, Chitta observed, if he were a Bajoran, it would have long evolved into a full-fledged brawl with threats and insults. She smiled knowingly at him and shot back, "Then I wouldn't bet anything that I couldn't afford to lose. And I would win in both cases."

"How come?" the Cardassian was obviously intrigued, he leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees, shortening the distance between them.

Chitta fluttered her eyelashes playfully and replied cunningly, "If you won, I would have more food when I return to the camp, if you lost, I would have your stake."

The Cardie chuckled, it was a well calculated answer, and continued, "If you win in both cases, does that mean that I lose in both cases?"

She shrugged her shoulders, to make the cleavage of her bosom more prominent and let the sheet slip off her knees, "Not necessary, Glinn. You can lose only your bet and I think you would play low because you are much more interested in winning the first option." The Cardie had to admit he had been beaten in his own game, she was good at repartee. He had never thought that other species can enjoy and understand Cardassian joking.

Still, he had to go, so he stood up and remarked jovially, "Well, Miss Tamil, remind me never to bet against you again, you are more dangerous than a Ferengi."

The Cardassian officer headed for the door and promised to bring her lunch and some hot water later. She made use of his good mood and asked him for a toothbrush, a comb and other toilet necessities. She had not had these amenities of civilization since Limo stole her bag with clothes and personal belongings.

The glinn returned to the garrison, beckoned to four reshes to follow him and made for the communal kitchen where the team of collaborators was cooking the food for the camp. He entered the place under the bewildered glances of the Bajorans. He had never ventured to check this place himself, only Limo came to give orders and to take his share. He went to the store, opened it, and programmed the electronic lock for his fingerprints and DNA pattern.

He instructed two of the reshes curtly, "Every morning I will open this store myself and you will monitor that the kitchen personnel takes out the prescribed amount of provisions, namely, 45 sacks of cava root, 45 sacks of katterpod, 50 sacks of mapa flour, 50 kg of meat, 8 l of vegetable oil." The reshes nodded vehemently, figuring out that this was not that bad after all because the kitchen was warm and they could use a bowl of normal soup now and then.

The glinn continued, speaking loud enough for the collaborators to hear him, too, "You will watch each stage of the food preparation, all food stuffs had to be used within a day. When the food is cooked, you will escort the cauldrons to the food line and make sure that all camp inhabitants get their daily ration of soup and bread. You will also maintain the discipline – no bullying, no pushing ahead or jumping the queue." He silenced and the reshes replied dutifully, "Yes, Glinn."

The rumors that Limo had fallen out of favor with the glinn and he was going to a mining facility with forced labor turned out to be correct. The glinn really meant it. The Slimo ( slimy + Limo), as they used to call him, must have really fucked up because the glinn rarely displayed so much determination about camp-related issues. Probably it had something to do with the flying dude from Terok Nor, as well.

The officer went to the collaborator in charge of the kitchen, a middle-aged chubby man. He and his wife directed the kitchen personnel what to do. "You are dismissed and stripped of all your privileges, vacate your lodge and find another place in the camp. Limo's men confessed that you were involved in selling provisions to them." The collaborators lived in small lodges which were considered a luxury by the remaining inhabitants who had to put up tents and makeshift huts.

They stood petrified but did not say anything because they knew that any disagreement would only exacerbate their precarious situation and the glinn might level charges against them for embezzlement of Cardassian property and send them to a mining facility. Most mining facilities were manned by delinquents who had been handed over to the Cardassian courts.

The milieu comprised murderers, thieves, racketeers, robbers, black-marketers, pickpockets, travelling whores and Cardassian half-breeds that neither the Bajorans nor the Cardassians knew how to place. This motley bunch was occasionally laced with captured Resistance fighters, their supporters, or local troublemakers. When there was a shortage of labor force, the Prefect had to put pressure on the secretary Kubus Oak and he signed the necessary amendments that included the vagrants roaming around without a permanent place of residence and job.

The officer signaled the other two reshes and they took out the couple. Then he swept his gaze over the remaining collaborators who were trembling with fear and snarled warningly, "Pray your Prophets I keep seeing you as valuable." He strutted out of the kitchen and went to the collaborators' lodge where the couple was hastily packing under the watchful eyes of the reshes. Kottrag sent the reshes outside, he really did not want to set tongues wagging.

When they left, he addressed the woman, "You, show me your dresses." The woman opened her wardrobe without any objections. There were about 7 or 8 dresses so she could spare 3 of them, the glinn decided. The woman was corpulent, undoubtedly working in a kitchen and being part of a black-market scheme had its advantages, so the dresses would be too large for Miss Tamil but still better than the dress she was wearing now. He looked at her dressing table and took some combs, brushes, clamps, hair-pins and other female accessories he did not know what they were for. He chose three dresses and put everything into a big scarf.

Three bells later, Kottrag brought Chitta some lunch, hot water, the dresses, the accessories and some toilet necessities. She was particularly happy with the accessories and took them with her when she went to the bathroom. When she reappeared, she was wearing one of the dresses and her hair was combed and held high by the hairpins, falling heavily on her shoulders.

It was beautiful black hair, glossy and thick, almost Cardassian, the glinn noticed. Still, this dress did not accentuate her forms, which was a pity. He teased her, "I liked the previous dress better, it was more cheerful, this one is quite dull."

Chitta raised her brows in mock surprise and exclaimed, "Did you? If you promise not to run away head over heels, I might put it on again. Still, you can't let me go back to the camp dressed with that dress, unless you want more incidents."

The Cardassian chuckled, she had noticed his embarrassment when he saw her with the short, tight dress. Her reminder that eventually he had to let her go made him frown a bit, he hoped she needed his protection for a few days longer. "So what about your soreness, has… everything healed?" the glinn inquired haltingly, he felt awkward discussing her injuries.

She sat on one of the containers next to him, crossed her legs coquettishly and assured him, "Yes, Glinn, no more bleeding, no soreness, everything is fine with me."

He changed his sitting position slightly to have a better view of her and remarked, "Our paramedic will be very happy to hear that, he had never done that before, he virtually surmounted himself."

Chitta looked him into the eyes, her playfulness suddenly replaced by earnestness and stated, "I would like to thank him personally if this is not too much of an imposition."

The glinn laughed, it sounded so dainty and formal, "No, of course, it is not. But he is quite traditional, he had to overcome his taboos in order to do it. As it is, he would have never touched you if I hadn't ordered him, so I don't think he needs to be reminded of that.

"I see," Chitta nodded, in other words the guy was quite embarrassed to touch an alien woman and to speak to this woman would be too much.

She really wanted to know why Glinn Kottrag had been so determined to save her. It was not out of mercy or compassion; Cardassians were notoriously short on these sentiments. She tentatively complimented him, "But you are not like him, you handled it pretty well."

The Cardassian shrugged his shoulders in fake denial, obviously he liked having his efforts acknowledged and pointed out, "No one can handle that well, the whole thing is …absurd."

He silenced for a second while finding the word and then reflected somewhat saddened, "But I have seen so many weird things that one more does not mean anything."

Well, ordering a woman he had not seen and did not know what she would be like was an absurd, Chitta thought but then she noticed that the guy became somewhat downcast and boosted his self-esteem, "Still, you must be a very self-possessed person because you kept your head."

A wry smile wrung his mouth, "Well, I am supposed to…that's why the Cardassian Union pays me for – to be self-possessed and do what has to be done. Even if I don't like it." She took in that the more he dwelled on the night when he brought her here, the more depressed he got.

She tried to change the topic and encourage him to talk about something he liked, "Indeed, you are a fifth-generation soldier, no one would accept less," she deftly concluded and broached a more pleasant topic, "Still, I was wondering what do you do when you are not a soldier, do you have other life as well?" She had never seen a civilian Cardassian and she realized that she did not know anything about them apart from what people said.

The Cardie perked up a little, "I like being home on Cardassia IV. It is not the Prime, but we are very proud of our homeworld. It has been one of the oldest Cardassian colonies since we were capable of space travel. I like spending time with my relatives and family, being with my wife and my 2 children, doing some small repairs in the house, taking them out, just enjoying the fact that they are with me." The Cardassian silenced uneasily, discussing his wife and children with an alien woman he had bought for two slips of latinum did not seem a good idea.

"You probably miss them very much," the Bajoran woman offered helpfully.

"Yes, I do. But this is the price of having them safe and well-cared. I have to be here…" The Cardassian trailed, he did not want to tell her how horrible and chaotic her homeworld seemed to him.

"How often do you see them?" Chitta prodded him gently, she sensed his mood was improving and the topic made him quite animated.

"Last year I had a home leave for two weeks. I hope I will have one this year, too." Then he gave her a long assessing stare and ventured, "What I don't understand is why you were sent to this camp, couldn't you go to another farm and live with relatives and neighbors?"

Chitta's face expression sharpened, "Yes, I could, but I didn't want to." She did not know how to explain that she had been an outsider long before what Limo had done to her. It was only the logical outcome.

"Why not?" the Cardassian quietly asked, his voice and countenance indicating surprise.

Chitta sighed and produced the most inoffensive answer she could think of, going into d'jarra issues was pointless, "Because I wanted to see…other things. I had a brother, he left two years ago, he and I, we weren't like our parents, they were contended with their way of life, we weren't."

The glinn wondered whether the typical Bajoran family was like that, a schism between generations, children turning their backs and leaving, it sounded terrible to him so he needed a clarification, "What happened to your brother?"

Chitta shrugged her shoulders, she really missed her brother, if he were here, Limo would have never dared touch her. He was a fighter, he maliciously revenged any insult, and she looked up to him. Unfortunately, he had to leave hastily because he had thrashed the son of a prominent landowner who had decided to file a complaint with the Cardassian authorities. She just said pensively, "He did not like his place in the village and the only way to change it was to leave. I don't know where he went."

The Cardassian was engrossed in the conversation. He had not had a normal conversation for ages. He had never been particularly close to his officers because he expected that at some point they might use him to elicit favors. Burden of command had many implications and one of them was that the higher he went in the ranks, the lonelier he grew. Besides, the commander was supposed to be impartial so he would hate to be chitchatted for rubbing elbows with any of his officers.

Yet, he could not figure out why she had chosen to replace the known, shielded community, no matter how dull and unfair it might be, with the anonymous cruelty of a refugee camp. "I don't think the camp met your expectations," the Cardassian observed dryly, recalling his failure at controlling the camp.

Chitta shrugged her shoulders, her expectations had been shattered to pieces by the harsh reality, "Well, I knew it would be difficult, being on my own, new environment. I knew that people like Limo existed but I have always managed to outmaneuver them, until now…" She truly did not know how to say that the shock and injuries might be curable but her affiliation to her people was irrevocably terminated.

The Cardassian guiltily lowered his gaze, "Yes, people like Limo exist but I have underestimated the degree of harm they could inflict." Chitta realized that he was blaming himself for what Limo had done to her and the absurd of the situation moved her and enraged her at the same time. A hardened Cardassian soldier was sitting next to her full of remorse for the fact that her own people had been about to kill her.

She pointed out matter-of-factly, trying to assure him that she does not blame him, "Look, it is a big camp, you can't control everything."

The officer did not buy it, shook his head, and uttered, "The problem is that I did not even try. There are so many things that I don't understand that I simply gave up and let Limo handle everything." He sighed and gathered himself – what was done, was done – he simply had to clear up the mess. He looked at Chitta and asked her animatedly, he found her presence quite soothing, "If you were not in the camp, what did you plan to do, on your own?

"Well, I guess, I didn't have much of a plan…"Chitta hesitated for a moment. Her initial plan was to find traffickers to get her off the planet but this was illegal under Cardassian laws. She mentally crossed out plan A, and quickly moved to plan B, it was almost true, but it did not include Bajor, "I was hoping to find work in a canteen or a bar where the freighter crews stop. I wanted to see other species, how they do the things, what they think…I guess I am just too curious." Kottrag was listening to her, quite intrigued, this attitude was not typical of a Bajoran. Most Bajorans lived in the cocoon of their everyday chores and they would not bother to lift their gazes to something off the beaten track even if the new thing hit them on the nose.

Chitta deftly guided the conversation to a safer topic, "What is being on a star ship like, I have always wanted to have a ride on a ship."

"Well, I have been many times," the officer squared his shoulders, trying to sound nonchalant but in fact he badly wanted to impress her. "Nothing much, once they jump to warp, you don't feel the movement at all, the stars look like streaks, and that is all."

Chitta enthusiastically accepted his rather dull account and asked with unconcealed curiosity, "Have you visited many places?"

The Cardassian explained, sifting out all classified information, "I have been stationed on two agricultural colonies near the Federation border. I was protecting my own people against the Federation colonists who were supported by their military forces as well." He shook his head and added bitterly, "Now I don't know who I am supposed to protect and why."

The Bajoran woman summarized circumspectly, "It seems to me, you don't like being stationed here. Probably you liked your previous posts better."

The glinn smiled faintly and put it across, "Don't get me wrong, we go where we are needed and we do what we are ordered. We are the Militia, the backbone of the Cardassian military." He chuckled while citing the old motto that his grandfather had cited too. "But I would appreciate to do something meaningful, to see that my presence makes an area more peaceful, better controlled, better administered, that local people see stability restored and respect law and order. I don't get a sense of achievement here, that's all."

Chitta gave him a long, inquisitive stare, everybody said that Cardassians were cruel and heartless and did not care who they killed and how much pain and suffering they inflicted. It turned out that they didn't view their actions that way. Apparently, they valued a smooth, well-organized system of government and wanted to see a place effectively functioning resorting to tough measures if they had to.

She eagerly assured him, "I am sure that one way or another you will get a sense of achievement here, too. If Limo is not here and people receive their rations, you will find out that the quarrels and the violence will diminish."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"The cat does not offer services. The cat offers itself. Of course he wants care and shelter. You don't buy love for nothing. Like all pure creatures, cats are practical."

William S. Burroughs

A week later

Glinn Kottrag had just escorted Limo and his gang to the skimmer which was to transport them to a mine. He could not send them himself. He had entered their names on a list of people who had committed felonies, this list was sent to the secretary Kubus Oak and only with his endorsement could a Bajoran citizen be sent to a forced-labor facility.

It was remarkable how much the camp had changed over these several days since Limo was arrested. The violence among Bajorans had dropped by 50% according to the soldiers patrolling the camp. There were not quarrels at the food line, everyone was taking their food under the protection of the sentries. The food was obviously enough because the acts of stealing bread from unattended tents and shacks decreased rapidly. Glinn Kottrag had replaced the kitchen staff almost entirely, leaving the collaborators associated with Limo and his gang to the mercy of their compatriots. Having in mind the Bajoran propensity for holding grudges, they crawled around the camp, almost invisible, in constant fear for their lives.

The questionnaire he had circulated revealed that there were also learned people among the Bajorans, so all clergy people, teachers, scholars and artists were conscripted to organize a school for the children and teenagers. That measure was welcomed by the parents, besides the camp was much calmer without stampeding herds of dirty children. He had also found several skilled craft men and had put them in charge of teams that had to clean, carry out repairs, fetch water, dig trenches around the shacks, dig waste depots and septic holes, build lean-toes or put up tents for those who did not have any shelter.

All able-bodied men had to work for 3 hours a day in one of the teams. The female inhabitants of the camp were extremely happy with that measure because there was a special team that carried water from the river. Several youngsters were reported to be extorting people into paying them for protection, a form of racketeering indeed, and Glinn Kottrag made them clean the latrines and all camp residents approved of his decision.

The officer headed for Chitta's shed to tell her that she could return to the camp now. He was so used to her presence and to visiting her three times a day, bringing her food and water and having a chat that he realized he would really miss her company. No, that was impossible, he chided himself, she was only a Bajoran, nothing much. Moreover, he was not sure whether there was a decent way of keeping her.

He was almost angry with himself for giving the matter so much consideration. After all, he could devote his time to so many more important issues. What was she to him – a pet, a mistress, a companion? Until now, he had kept her here to make sure she was out of Limo's reach and to provide her with time and a place to recuperate properly. The Cardassian did not want to make her stay against her will, it undermined his self-respect, he was not that desperate to …like the company of a female from an inferior race. No, it was only temporary and now he was going set her free and things would return to normal.

Now she was radiant with health and not only health, in fact he found it increasingly difficult to keep his mind in her presence and not to think of her body in that tight, blue dress. She really made him horny, but having in mind what had happened to her and his involvement in it, it was out of question to advance on her.

Still, at several occasions, he was close to grabbing her, but he had started to personalize her, she was not just some sulky female. Chitta was the only creature on this planet that was happy to see him, and he was afraid that a blunt demand for sex would ruin this closeness. Besides, he was not sure whether it would not be too painful for her. He winced at the vision of her giving him a cursory glance full of contempt and ill-concealed hate, the way women usually looked at him when it was over.

Probably this was the best way – to let her go, out of sight, out of mind. What bothered him was that he would not be able to find another woman. They had to be threatened and forced to come to him and now with Limo gone he could not do the threatening and the forcing part. His idea was to pay for the service, it was fair enough, there were whores around the big settlements and garrisons that were doing it for a living, and negotiating with them was easy.

The officer drove back the dreadful prospect of the long, lonely evenings to come. He got used to spending his evenings with Chitta, chatting about everything – relatives, funny stories of their lives, why were the Bajorans like that, what were the Cardassians like, cooking tips for the KP soldiers, not that they learnt to cook. Cardassians seemed doomed never to develop conscience and good cooking skills. As far as Glinn Kottrag was concerned, he did not care whether his actions counted as conscientious or not as long as the law and order were restored and there were not acts of violence. Still, the lack of cooking skills in his soldiers was a real tragedy.

His post on Bajor emerged as a miserable one – no decent food, no sex, no holosuites, no job satisfaction. He could either play kotra or get drunk. In fact, he introduced Chitta to the rules and three evenings later she beat him, he had never been particularly good. But she saw the strategies and the traps really quickly, if she were a Cardassian woman, she could go into sciences and make a career, she was really clever.

The Cardassian entered her shed and saw her putting away her possessions into an empty container she used as a cupboard. Another container was transformed into a night stand and there Chitta kept her accessories. Kottrag had given her his own mirror because she could not live without combing her hair in front of a mirror. She looked at him and smiled, "I didn't expect you before lunchtime, Glinn."

He returned the smile, quite uneasily, and said, "I am dropping by to tell you that Limo and his men have just departed so you can return to the camp…when you want."

He was about to say 'as soon as possible' but he did not want it to sound like an order. Her smile faded away and she drawled sarcastically, "Oh, yes, at long last. I can hardly wait to return to the wood next to the camp because this is where I used to live. I don't have a hut or tent or whatever." The glinn felt the reproach in her tone and reassured her, "I can accommodate you in one of the lodges or provide you with a tent and have it put up for you, if you want it."

Chitta stood up, her face unreadable with a small lofty smile on her lips and approached him, slowly and pointedly. The Cardassian noticed the pronounced hip shake in her movement, it was quite inviting, but he did not want to cherish illusions. She stopped square in front of him and fixed her electric blue eyes on him, her mysterious lip curl still there. The woman had never come so close to him, so he really did not know how to interpret her behavior. In Cardassian terms, this was a pure sexual invitation and a challenge but she was a Bajoran so it could be something else. It was so outlandish that he felt like stepping backwards but that would be too humiliating.

"What I want…" she repeated in a drawled whisper, and then said emphatically, "You are the glinn of this garrison and the camp. The important thing is what you want."

The puzzled Cardie stammered, "I don't know what you mean," and stepped back but she followed him unyieldingly and asserted, "You know what I mean, Glinn." She raised her arms and slowly placed her hands on his armor close to the neck. He just stared at her, he was baffled, she acted like a Cardassian woman, perky and determined and did not show any signs of fear or unwillingness. That was strange, some were more timid and reasonable than others, but none had ever been that willing. This was probably some form of Bajoran parting, they were emotional, he concluded.

Chitta sneered inwardly at his puzzlement and pressed against him, her arms around his neck. He was not going to get away that easily, this clumsy connoisseur of Bajoran females was going to get what he had paid for – a sample of Bajoran spirit, a most lascivious one. She had noticed his furtive ogling and she had enjoyed teasing him very much. She was not going to give up without finding out what was beneath this armor, how far these ridges went down and what they were like. Life was too short and insecure not to make the most of it. She snuggled her head close to him against his neck and sniffed his skin – it smelled of dry horn, disinfectant and something sweetish that she could not define.

The glinn felt the warmth of her skin around his neck and wrapped his arms around her almost defensively, at least now she could not make him step backwards. His hands slid over the thin waist and stuck on the voluptuous curve of her hipbone, trying to keep her away from his boner. He could jump her bones immediately, it hurt so good, but if he succumbed to doing her and then let her go, the memory would haunt him over and over again, increasing his sense of lost and loneliness. She might not like it and she was going to be in the camp as a reminder of what he had lost. He could not lose something he had never had, he prudently decided.

Chitta sensed his wavering and internal struggle and concentrated on his neck. She moved her right hand to where the armor gave way to the neck ridges and run her fingers over the undulated surface stopping at the straight black hair. The reaction was unequivocal, the ridges turned out to be alive and sensitive because he pressed the small of her back, shoving her into him and she felt his hard-on through the trousers. At the same time he kept her right hand off from the ridges and gasped, "Look, Chitta, I don't think this is a good idea…"

The Cardie was barely controlling himself, she almost pitied him, but it was the best option for him and for her. He needed someone, he was choking on his cultural shock and loneliness and she was not going to return to a bunch of dirty, angry peasants. This man, alien as he might be, was her only protection against the barbarity outside and her pass for a better life with more opportunities. What was more, her wild, inquisitive nature was prodding her to go further.

Her train of well-calculated reasons was suddenly cut short and her mind went blank, she could not concentrate on her carefully thought-out arguments because they were swept away by a wave of heat. It was like nothing familiar, the heavy and sweetish smell of his skin wrapped her, a flutter came all over her, and she shook at the end. It was an overwhelming sensation and her internal tension came to an edge – she did not know that she was reacting to his pheromones. She had expected that at some point he would overcome his scruples but he had managed to withstand her teasing and provocations remarkably well so she had no other option but to goad him into action.

The neck before her eyes was even more attractive at closer look, each scale finely sculptured and lying in a complicated interlocking pattern, the big protruding ridges turning gradually into rows of scales running parallel. She ran her left hand over the rows of scales and whispered in his ear, "Relax, Glinn, it is meant to be fun, you paid two slips of latinum for me, remember…"

The Cardassian just groaned not knowing what to do with his boner throbbing painfully in his trousers. He toyed with the idea of pushing her abruptly aside and terminating the awkward situation, but it was so good, this warm hand over his neck, the female scent, the firm, resilient body rubbing on him. He thought he could prolong it a bit and enjoy it but then he was going to stop it. It was so complicated, he …liked her, it was so embarrassing. Kottrag truly did not what was more uncomfortable – his sexual desire or the way he thought of her. Involuntarily he increased his pressure on her and his hold of her hand came to a clench.

She moved a bit to make him ease his grip and he released her right hand with an expression of puzzled resignation. Chitta wondered whether what women said was true, and whether it really hurt. There was only one way to find out but everything she had known about the Cardassians so far had turned out to be quite different so she reminded herself to stay relaxed, whatever it was it could not be worse than what she had experienced with Limo and his idiots.

At least she truly liked this man so some sex was not going to kill her, no matter how strange it might be. In fact, she wanted to prove to herself that she really could feel something because her own reaction to the gang-bang horrified her. She felt ashamed that she did not feel like weeping, she simply could not forgive herself for underestimating the gang. The event just revolved in her mind and she analyzed it wondering whether she had done everything possible to prevent it. She expected to be shocked, devastated, depressed, like a damsel in distress from the fairy tales, but she was not. Was she going to be always that insensitive, was that the price of survival, to become totally impermeable to all emotions, even the desirable ones.

The Cardie made his last attempt to play Mr. Nice Guy and uttered defensively, "I didn't know you then, I did not know it was you…" He shut up abruptly, fully aware of the nonsense he had just said – as though if it had been another woman, it would have been perfectly acceptable.

Chitta tucked her right hand under his armor, groped for the buckle of his trousers and gave him a level stare, "And now you know me so enjoy your investment, you have worked hard for it."

The glinn gasped when she managed to unbuckle his fly and slid her hand inside, "I don't want to hurt you…" She ran her left hand over his neck ridges and whispered in his ear, "You won't hurt me, I am big and strong enough and I am… wet, so you had better do something." Then she bit slightly and sucked the ridges below his ear. That was the last drop, he could not resist any longer. The Cardassian said goodbye to his scruples, turned her around, bent her over one of the containers, pulled up her dress and guiltily observed that it was just as good as his own wife. Probably even better, the Bajoran was like hot plasma, her warmth engulfed him.

After the second one that they managed to perform on the mattress and properly undressed the Cardie dozed curling around her while she was digesting the experience. It was rough, intense and loaded with determination – whatever they did, they did it properly and thoroughly, no shilly-shallying. The funny thing was that his rough skin was tickling her everywhere, turning her on, and their equivalent of a kiss was a short pecking and lifting of the skin with teeth and lips which made her dripping. She hoped she would not get blue marks, her skin was less adapted for such caresses. She wondered whether all of them were so much fun in bed or only this one.

Still, she had more work to do, she had a plan. She turned around, propped up on her elbow and eyed the exhausted Cardassian. He mumbled something and drew her closer to him, the warmth of her skin felt so cozy. Chitta stroke his jet-black hair which was not as slick as it used to be an hour ago. This definitely drew his attention and he nipped her bare shoulder which was exactly before his eyes.

"You know what, Glinn, I was wondering what you plan to do this afternoon, apart from this, I mean," she said trying not to giggle too much, the guy was moving down, trying to use as little teeth as possible.

"Well, this suits me perfectly, I have just got the hack of it," the meaningful rejoinder came.

"Yes, you are doing fine, less biting," Chitta praised his efforts and moved to the point, "But we can do this later and in the meantime if you let me to your kitchen, I can cook something for dinner."

The tickling stopped. "You mean the garrison kitchen?" He lifted his head and eyed her worriedly.

Chitta returned a most innocent and assertive look to him and replied, "Well, I guess, how many kitchens do you have? Consider it an act of gratitude, I just want to do something for you, you saved my life. Why do you have to eat such bad food if you have a professional cook at hand?"

The officer was still in two minds, officially bringing a Bajoran female on the garrison premises, he really did not know how his soldiers would react. Most of them had been serving under him for years, since they had been attached to his outfit. He had managed to keep them out of the harm's way and reduce the casualties to a minimum. He never threw them into a mission headlong without receiving and confirming all available reconnaissance data. Cardassia did not need dead soldiers, was his argumentation. He knew his men and they trusted him, none of them was an Obsidian agent, the garrison was too backwater and insignificant to waste an agent on it.

Chitta almost read his thoughts and pressed further, "Besides, I am sure your soldiers won't object to eating well-cooked meal for a change. They will even respect you more if you can provide them with better food. You improved the food supply of the camp but your own soldiers go hungry – I don't get it."

The last argument really tipped the scales and he muttered pensively, "OK, you have a point, I will come and stay with you while you are cooking and I will inform them that I have decided to hire a cook for the garrison."

Three bells later, the dinner was ready and he left Chitta in his quarters. For the first time the mess hall was full, usually they just threw a glance, decided it was too vile, and returned to their quarters to munch field rations. No one knew the name of the dish but it was tasty and resembled Sem'hal stew. In fact, it was Chitta's approximation of this popular Cardassian dish. Kottrag had tried to describe what it contained but he was not sure about the amount of each ingredient and the cooking techniques his wife applied. So she listened to his explanation and improvised using the available products.

The bread was plain Bajoran mapa bread, but it was baked perfectly. The Larish pie was fabulous, truly sweet, Cardassians liked sweet things. It was eaten to the last crumble and the cauldron was soon empty too. Glinn Kottrag was dining with Gil Rissal and paramedic Sentan. The paramedic observed while polishing his plate, "Well, Glinn, I am very happy we saved that girl, she is really valuable."

"Yes, she is," the glinn curtly acknowledged the remark. He really did not know how to explain the fact that the cook was going to live in his quarters.

Gil Rissal, the ordnance gil, threw in conversationally, "My daughter keeps a wompat at home. My wife is furious, she doesn't approve of animals at home. Still, if my little girl wants a pet, she will have it. I am always telling my wife that some people keep riding hounds, others even voles for the fights, so a wompat is quite a tolerable creature." The paramedic and the glinn listened to him and watched him not fully aware of what this preamble was getting at. He gave his commander a dubious glance and continued relevantly, "I mean, if someone has decided to keep an exotic Bajoran pet, I don't think it should be a problem. That little hairy bastard at home can't even cook."

Sentan chuckled at the last comment and Kottrag's lower jaw dropped in astonishment so the paramedic interjected, "I have heard that the flying dudes on Terok Nor keep…Bajoran females, for rest and recreation purposes. We are no worse than they are. Anything that can improve our existence here is…welcome." Now Glinn Kottrag grasped it – his officers were trying to assure him that they didn't mind what he kept in his quarters especially if the creature could cook.

Glinn Kottrag was relieved to find out that they accepted Chitta's presence but still he could not stay with Chitta all the time while she was cooking besides she could not waste 3 hours for each meal so he had to attach KP soldiers to her as kitchen staff. He did not relish leaving Chitta alone with one or two of his reshes, not that they would dare to do something improper but having in mind how friendly and charming she was, he could not rule out the possibility of her flirting with them. Anyway, the kitchen was going to be a very interesting place, that was for sure. However, he had too many peccadilloes to judge so he kept eating and decided to let the things be.


End file.
